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[LIBRARY  \ 

UNIVERSITY  OF  1 

I          CALIFORNIA  J 

1      SAN  DIEGO  ; 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 

Mrs.    Edwin  W.    Meise 

donor 


/Co 
ML. 


COUSIN  MAUDE 


OR 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS 


BY 

MRS.  MARY  J.  ..HOLMES 

AUTHOR'  OF  "  TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE,"   "  LENA  RIVERS," 
"MEADOWBROOK,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


* 


NEW  YORK 

THE  FEDERAL   BOOK   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


TO 


OF  NEW  OELEANS, 

THESE  STORIES 

OF  LIFE  AMONQ  THE  NORTHEBN  HILLS 

ARE  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 

BY  HIS  FRIEND, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
Dr.  Kennedy 5 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Journey 15 

CHAPTER  IH. 
The  New  Home 21 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Little  Louis 35 

CHAPTER  V. 
Mrs.  Janet  Blodgett 47 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Mother 60 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Past  and  Present 64 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
James  and  J.  C 78 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Milkman's  Heiress 91 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Engagement,  Real  and  Prospective. „ 108 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Maude  Glendower. . .  .  121 


ii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER  XH. 
How  the  Engagements  Prospered 128 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Hampton 143 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Dark  Hour 149 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  New  Mistress  at  Laurel  Hill 156 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Blind  Girl 165 

CHAPTER  XVII. 


Nellie's  Bridal  Night 178 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Cousin  Maude 183 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  Second  Bridal 192 

CHAPTER  XX. 
The  Sexton 198 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Home  Again 206 


COUSIN  MAUDE, 


OK, 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIEESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DR.    KENNEDY. 

"  IF  you  please,  marm,  the  man  from  York  State  is 
comin'  afoot.  Too  stingy  to  ride,  I'll  warrant,"  and 
Janet,  the  housekeeper,  disappeared  from  the  parlor, 
just  as  the  sound  of  the  gate  was  heard,  and  an  un 
usually  fine-looking  middle-aged  man  was  seen  coming 
up  the  box-lined  walk  which  led  to  the  cottage  door. 

The  person  thus  addressed  was  a  lady,  whose  face, 
though  young  and  handsome,  wore  a  look  which  told 
of  early  sorrow.  Matilda  Remington  had  been  a 
happy,  loving  wife,  but  the  old  church-yard  in  Vernon 
contained  a  grass-grown  grave,  where  rested  the  noble 
heart  which  had  won  her  girlish  love.  And  she  was  a 
widow  now,  a  fair-haired,  blue  eyed  widow,  and  the 
stranger  who  had  so  excited  Janet's  wrath  by  walking 
from  the  depot,  a  distance  of  three  miles,  would  claim 
her  as  his  bride  ere  the  morrow's  sun  was  midway  in 
the  heavens.  How  the  engagement  happened  she  could 
not  exactly  tell,  but  happened  it  had,  and  she  was 

pledged   to   leave   the    vine-wreathed   cottage  which 

5 


6  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Harry  had  built  for  her,  and  go  with  one  of  whom  she 
knew  comparatively  little. 

Six  months  before  our  story  opens,  she  had  spent  a 
few  days  with  him  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend  in 
an  adjoining  state,  and  since  that  time  they  had 
written  to  each  other  regularly,  the  correspondence 
resulting  at  last  in  an  engagement,  which  he  had  now 
come  to  fulfil.  He  had  never  visited  her  before  in  her 
own  home,  consequently  she  was  wholly  unacquainted 
with  his  disposition  or  peculiarities.  He  Avas  intelligent 
and  refined,  commanding  in  appearance,  and  agreeable 
in  manner,  whenever  he  chose  to  be,  and  when  he  wrote 
to  her  of  his  home,  which  he  said  would  be  a  second 
Paradise  were  she  its  mistress,  when  he  spoke  of  the 
little  curly-headed  girl  who  so  much  needed  a  mother's 
care,  and  when,  more  than  all,  he  hinted  that  his  was 
no  beggar's  fortune,  she  yielded  ;  for  Matilda  Keming- 
ton  did  not  dislike  the  luxuries  which  money  alone  can 
purchase.  Her  own  fortune  was  small,  and  as  there 
was  now  no  hand  save  her  own  to  provide,  she  often 
found  it  necessary  to  economize  more  than  she  wished 
to  do.  But  Dr.  Kennedy  was  rich,  and  if  she  married 
him  she  would  escape  a  multitude  of  annoyances,  so 
she  made  herself  believe  that  she  loved  him  ;  and  when 
she  heard,  as  she  more  than  once  did  hear,  rumors  of 
a  sad,  white-faced  woman,  to  whom  the  grave  was  a 
welcome  rest,  she  said  the  story  was  false,  and,  shaking 
her  pretty  head,  refused  to  believe  that  there  was 
aught  in  the  doctor  of  evil. 

"  To  be  sure,  he  was  not  at  all  like  Harry — she  could 
never  find  one  who  was — but  he  was  so  tall,  so  digni 
fied,  so  grand,  so  particular,  that  it  seemed  almost  like 
stooping  for  one  in  his  position  to  think  of  her,  and  she 
liked  him  all  the  better  for  his  condescension." 


DR.  KENNEDY.  7 

Thus  she  ever  reasoned,  and  when  Janet  said  that 
he  was  coming,  and  she,  too,  heard  his  step  upon  the 
piazza,  the  bright  blushes  broke  over  her  youthful  face, 
and  casting  a  hurried  glance  at  the  mirror,  she  hastened 
out  to  meet  him. 

"  Matty,  my  dear  !  "  he  said,  and  his  thin  lips  touched 
her  glowing  cheek,  but  in  his  cold  gray  eye,  there  shone 
no  love, — no  feeling, — no  heart. 

He  was  too  supremely  selfish  to  esteem  another 
higher  than  himself,  and  though  it  flattered  him  to 
know  that  the  young  creature  was  so  glad  to  meet 
him,  it  awoke  no  answering  chord,  and  he  merely 
thought  that  with  her  to  minister  to  him  he  should 
possibly  be  happier  than  he  had  been  with  her  pred 
ecessor. 

"  You  must  be  very  tired,"  she  said,  as  she  led  the 
way  into  the  cozy  parlor.  Then,  seating  him  in  the 
easy  chair  near  to  the  open  window,  she  continued  : 
"How  warm  you  are.  What  made  you  walk  this 
sultry  afternoon  ?  " 

"It  is  a  maxim  of  mine  never  to  ride  when  I 
can  walk,"  said  he,  "  for  I  don't  believe  in  humoring 
those  omnibus  drivers  by  paying  their  exorbitant 
prices." 

"  Two  shillings,  surely,  is  not  an  exorbitant  price," 
trembled  on  Mrs.  Remington's  lips,  but  she  was  pre 
vented  from  saying  so  by  his  asking  "  if  everything 
were  in  readiness  for  the  morrow." 

"  Yes,  everything,"  she  replied.  "  The  cottage  is 
sold,  and " 

"  Ah,  indeed,  sold  !  "  said  he,  interrupting  her.  "  If 
I  mistake  not  you  told  me,  when  I  met  you  in  Rome, 
that  it  was  left  by  will  to  you.  May  I,  as  your  to 
morrow's  husband,  ask  how  much  you  received  for 


8  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

it  ?  "  and  he  unbent  his  dignity  so  far  as  to  wind  his 
arm  around  her  waist. 

But  the  arm  was  involuntarily  withdrawn,  when, 
with  her  usual  frankness,  Matty  replied  :  "  I  received 
a  thousand  dollars,  but  there  were  debts  to  be  paid,  so 
that  I  had  only  five  hundred  left,  and  this  I  made  over 
to  my  daughter  to  be  used  for  her  education." 

Dr.  Kennedy  did  not  say  that  he  was  disappointed, 
and  as  Matty  was  not  much  of  a  physiognomist,  she 
did  not  read  it  in  his  face,  and  she  continued  :  "  Janet 
will  remain  here  awhile,  to  arrange  matters,  before 
joining  me  in  my  new  home.  She  wished  me  to  leave 
my  little  girl  to  come  with  her,  but  I  can't  do  that.  I 
must  have  my  child  with  me.  You've  never  seen  her, 
have  you  ?  I'll  call  her  at  once,"  and  stepping  to  the 
door,  she  bade  Janet  bring  Maude  into  the  parlor. 

"  Maude  !  "  How  Dr.  Kennedy  started  at  the  men 
tion  of  a  name,  which  drove  all  thoughts  of  the  five 
hundred  dollars  from  his  mind.  There  was  feeling — 
passion — everything,  now,  in  his  cold  gray  eye,  but 
quickly  recovering  his  composure,  he  said  calmly : 
"  Maude,  Matty — Maude,  is  that  your  child's  name  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered,  laughingly.  "Didn't 
you  know  it  before  ?  " 

"  How  should  I,"  he  replied,  "  when  in  your  letters 
you  have  always  called  her  daughter  ?  But  has  she  no 
other  name  ?  She  surely  was  not  baptized  Maude  ? " 

Ere  Mrs.  Remington  could  speak,  the  sound  of  little 
pattering  feet  was  heard  in  the  hall  without,  and  in  a 
moment  Maude  Remington  stood  before  her  father-in- 
law,  erect,  looking,  as  that  rather  fastidious  gentleman 
thought,  more  like  a  wild  gipsy  than  the  child  of  a 
civilized  mother.  She  was  a  fat,  chubby  creature, 
scarcely  yet  five  years  old ;  black-eyed,  black-haired, 


DR.  KENNEDY.  9 

and  black-faced,  too,  with  short,  thick  curls,  which, 
damp  with  perspiration,  stood  up  all  over  her  head, 
giving  her  a  singular  appearance.  She  had  been  play 
ing  in  the  brook,  her  favorite  companion,  and  now, 
with  little  spatters  of  mud  ornamenting  both  face  and 
pantalets,  her  sun-bonnet  hanging  down  her  back,  and 
her  hands  full  of  pebble-stones,  she  stood  furtively 
eying  the  stranger,  whose  mental  exclamation  was : 
"  Mercy,  what  a  fright !  " 

"  Maude  !  "  exclaimed  the  distressed  Mrs.  Reming 
ton,  "  where  have  you  been  ?  Go  at  once  to  Janet, 
and  have  your  dress  changed  ;  then  come  back  to  me." 

Nothing  loth  to  join  Janet,  whose  company  was 
preferable  to  that  of  the  stranger,  Maude  left  the 
room,  while  Dr.  Kennedy,  turning  to  Mrs.  Remington, 
said  :  "  She  is  not  at  all  like  you,  my  dear." 

"  No,"  answered  the  lady  ;  "  she  is  like  her  father  in 
everything  ;  the  same  eyes,  the  same  hair,  and " 

She  was  going  on  to  say  more,  when  the  expression 
of  Dr.  Kennedy's  face  stopped  her,  and  she  began  to 
wonder  if  she  had  displeased  him.  Dr.  Kennedy  could 
talk  for  hours  of  "  the  late  Mrs.  Kennedy,"  accom 
panying  his  words  with  long-drawn  sighs,  and  enumerat 
ing  her  many  virtues,  all  of  which  he  expected  to  be 
improved  upon  by  her  successor  ;  but  he  could  not  bear 
to  hear  the  name  of  Harry  Remington  spoken  by  one 
who  was  to  be  his  wife,  and  he  at  once  changed  the 
subject  of  Maude's  looks  to  her  name,  which  he  learned 
was  really  Matilda.  She  had  been  called  3faude, 
Mattie  said,  after  one  who  was  once  a  very  dear  friend 
both  of  herself  and  her  husband. 

"  Then  we  will  call  her  Matilda,"  said  he,  "  as  it  is  a 
maxim  of  mine  never  to  spoil  children  by  giving  them 
pet-names." 


10  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  But  you  call  your  daughter  Nellie]*  suggested  the 
little  widow,  and  in  her  soft,  blue  eye  there  shone  a 
mischievous  twinkle,  as  if  she  fancied  she  had  beaten 
him  with  his  own  argument. 

But  if  she  thought  to  convince  that  most  unreason 
able  man,  she  was  mistaken.  "What  he  did  was  no 
criterion  for  others,  unless  he  chose  that  it  should  be 
so,  and  he  answered,  "  That  is  sister  Kelsey's  idea,  and 
and  as  she  is  very  fond  of  Nellie,  I  do  not  interfere. 
But,  seriously,  Matty,  darling" — and  he  drew  her  to 
his  side,  with  an  uncommon  show  of  fondness — "  I 
cannot  call  your  daughter  Maude  •  I  do  not  like  the 
name,  and  it  is  a  maxim  of  mine,  that  if  a  person  dis 
likes  a  name,  'tis  an  easy  matter  to  dislike  the  one  who 
bears  it." 

Had  Mrs.  Remington  cared  less  for  him  than  she  did, 
'she  might  have  wondered  how  many  more  disagree 
able  maxims  he  had  in  store.  But  love  is  blind,  or 
nearly  so  ;  and  when,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  his  re 
marks,  he  caressed  her  with  an  unusual  degree  of  tender 
ness,  the  impulsive  woman  felt  that  she  would  call  her 
daughter  anything  which  suited  him.  Accordingly, 
when  at  last  Maude  returned  to  the  parlor,  with  her 
dress  changed,  her  curls  arranged,  and  her  dimpled 
cheeks  shining  with  the  siids  in  which  they  had  been 
washed,  she  was  prepared  to  say  Matilda  or  whatever 
else  pleased  his  capricious  fancy. 

"  Little  girl,"  he  said  extending  his  hand  toward  her, 
"little  girl,  come  here.  I  wish  to  talk  with  you." 

But  the  little  girl  hung  back,  and  when  her  mother 
insisted  upon  her  going  to  the  gentleman,  asking  if 
she  did  not  like  him,  she  answered  decidedly,  "No, 
I  don't  like  him,  and  he  shan't  be  my  pa,  either  !  " 

"  Maude,  daughter !  "   exclaimed    Mrs.   Remington, 


f 
DR.  KENNEDY.  11 

•while  Dr.  Kennedy,  turning  slightly  pale,  thought 
"  wretch !  "  but  said,  "  Matilda,  come  here,  won't 
you  ? " 

"  I  ain't  Matilda,"  she  answered.  "  I  won't  be 
Matilda — I'm  Maude,"  and  her  large  black  eyes  flashed 
defiantly  upon  him. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Dr.  Kennedy  coaxed  and  Mrs- 
Remington  threatened.  Maude  had  taken  a  dislike  to 
the  stranger,  and  as  he  persisted  in  calling  her  Matilda, 
she  persisted  in  refusing  to  answer,  until  at  last,  hear 
ing  Janet  pass  through  the  hall,  she  ran  out  to  her, 
sure  of  finding  comfort  and  sympathy  there. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  suffered  Maude  to  have  her  own 
way  too  much,  and  for  the  future  I  must  be  more 
strict  with  her,"  said  Mrs.  Remington,  apologetically ; 
while  the  doctor  replied,  "  I  think,  myself,  a  little 
wholesome  discipline  would  not  be  amiss.  'Tis  a 
maxim  of  mine,  spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child ;  but, 
of  course,  I  shall  not  interfere  in  the  matter." 

This  last  he  said  because  he  saw  a  shadow  flit  over 
the  fair  face  of  the  widow,  who,  like  most  indulgent 
mothers,  did  not  wholly  believe  in  Solomon.  The 
sight  of  Janet  in  the  hall  suggested  a  fresh  subject  to 
the  doctor's  mind,  and,  after  coughing  a  little,  he  said, 
"  Did  I  understand  that  your  domestic  was  intending 
to  join  you  at  Laurel  Hill  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Remington ;  "  Janet  came  to 
live  with  my  mother  when  I  was  a  little  girl  no  larger 
than  Maude.  Since  my  marriage  she  has  lived  with 
me,  and  I  would  not  part  with  her  for  anything." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  two  kinds  of  servants  are 
apt  to  make  trouble,  particularly  if  one  is  black  and 
the  other  white  ? "  and  in  the  speaker's  face  there  was 
an  expression  which  puzzled  Mrs.  Remington,  who 


12  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

could  scarce  refrain  from  crying  at  the  thoughts  of 
parting  with  Janet,  and  who  began  to  have  a  foretaste 
of  the  dreary  homesickness  which  was  to  wear  her 
life  away. 

"  I  can't  &Q  without  Janet,"  she  said  ;  "  she  knows  all 
my  ways,  and  I  trust  her  with  everything." 

"  The  very  reason  why  she  should  not  go,"  returned 
the  doctor.  "  She  and  old  Hannah  would  quarrel  at 
once.  You  would  take  sides  with  Janet,  I  with 
Hannah,  and  that  might  produce  a  feeling  which 
ought  never  to  exist  between  man  and  wife.  No,  my 
dear,  listen  to  me  in  this  matter,  and  let  Janet  remain 
in  Yernon.  Old  Hannah  has  been  in  my  family  a  long 
time.  She  was  formerly  a  slave,  and  belonged  to  my 
uncle,  who  lived  in  Yirginia,  and  who,  at  his  death, 
gave  her  to  me.  Of  course  I  set  her  free,  for  I  pride 
myself  on  being  a  man  of  humanity,  and  since  that 
time  she  has  lived  with  us,  superintending  the  house 
hold  entirely  since  Mrs.  Kennedy's  death.  She  is  very 
peculiar,  and  would  never  suffer  Janet  to  dictate,  as  I 
am  sure,  from  what  you  say,  she  would  do.  So,  my 
dear,  try  and  think  all  is  for  the  best.  You  need  not 
tell  her  she  is  not  to  come,  for  it  is  a  maxim  of  mine  to 
avoid  all  unnecessary  scenes,  and  you  can  easily  write  it 
in  a  letter." 

Poor  Mrs.  Remington !  she  knew  intuitively  that  the 
matter  was  decided,  and  was  she  not  to  be  forgiven,  if  at 
that  moment  she  thought  of  the  grass-grown  grave, 
whose  occupant  had  in  life  been  only  too  happy  grant 
ing  her  slightest  wish  ?  But  Harry  was  gone,  and  the 
man  with  whom  she  now  had  to  deal  was  an  exacting, 
tyrannical  master,  to  whose  will  her  own  must  ever  be 
subservient.  This,  however,  she  did  not  then  under, 
stand.  She  knew  he  was  not  at  all  like  Harry,  but  she 


DR.  KENNEDY.  13 

fancied  that  the  difference  consisted  in  his  being  so 
much  older,  graver,  and  wiser  than  her  husband  had 
been,  and  so  with  a  sigh,  she  yielded  the  point,  think 
ing  that  Janet  would  be  the  greater  sufferer  of  the  two. 

That  evening  several  of  her  acquaintance  called  to 
see  the  bridegroom  elect,  whom,  in  Mrs.  Remington's 
hearing,  they  pronounced  very  fine-looking,  and  quite 
agreeable  in  manner ;  compliments  which  tended  in  a 
measure  to  soothe  her  irritated  feelings  and  quiet  the 
rapid  beatings  of  her  heart,  which  for  hours  after  she 
retired  to  rest  would  occasionally  whisper  to  her  that 
the  path  she  was  about  to  tread  was  far  from  being 
strewn  with  flowers. 

"  He  loves  me,  I  know,"  she  thought,  "  though  his 
manner  of  showing  it  is  so  different  from  Harry,  but  I 
shall  become  accustomed  to  that  after  a  while,  and  be 
very,  very  happy,"  and  comforted  with  this  assurance 
she  fell  asleep,  encircling  within  her  arms  the  little 
Maude,  whose  name  had  awakened  bitter  memories  in 
the  heart  of  him  who  in  an  adjoining  chamber  battled 
with  thoughts  of  the  dark  past,  which  now,  on  the  eve 
of  his  second  marriage,  passed  in  sad  review  before  his 
mind. 

Memories  there  were  of  a  gentle,  pale-faced  woman, 
who,  when  her  blue  eyes  were  dim  with  coming  death, 
had  shudderingly  turned  away  from  him,  as  if  his  pres 
ence  brought  her  more  pain  than  joy.  Memories,  too, 
there  were  of  another — a  peerlessly  beautiful  creature 
who  ere  he  had  sought  the  white-faced  woman  for  his 
wife,  had  trampled  on  his  affections,  and  spurned  as  a 
useless  gift,  his  offered  love.  He  hated  her  now,  he 
thought ;  and  the  little  black-haired  child,  sleeping  so 
sweetly  in  its  mother's  arms,  was  hateful  in  his  sight, 
because  it  bore  that  woman's  name.  One,  two,  three 


14  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

— sounded  the  clock,  and  then  he  fell  asleep,  dreaming 
that  underneath  the  willows  which  grew  in  the  church 
yard,  far  off  on  Laurel  Hill,  there  were  two  graves  in 
stead  of  one ;  that  in  the  house  across  the  common 
there  was  a  sound  of  rioting  and  mirth,  unusual  in  that 
silent  mansion.  For  she  was  there,  the  woman  whom 
he  had  so  madly  loved,  and  wherever  she  went,  crowds 
gathered  about  her  as  in  the  olden  time. 

"  Maude  Glendower,  why  are  you  here  ? "  he  at 
tempted  to  say,  when  a  clear,  silvery  voice  aroused  him 
from  his  sleep,  and  starting  up,  he  listened  half  in  anger, 
half  in  disappointment,  to  the  song  which  little  Maude 
Remington  sang,  as  she  sat  in  the  open  door  awaiting 
the  return  of  her  mother,  who  had  gone  for  the  last 
time  to  see  the  sunshine  fall  on  Harry's  grave. 


THE  JOURNEY.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   JOURNEY. 

MRS.  KENNEDY  looked  charmingly  in  her  traveling 
dress  of  brown,  and  the  happy  husband  likened  her  to 
a  Quakeress,  as  he  kissed  her  blushing  cheek,  and  called 
her  his  "  little  wife."  He  had  passed  through  the  cere 
mony  remarkably  well,  standing  very  erect,  making 
the  responses  very  loud,  and  squeezing  very  becomingly 
the  soft  white  hand  on  whose  third  finger  he  placed 
the  wedding  ring — a  very  small  one,  by  the  way.  It 
was  over  now,  and  many  of  the  bridal  guests  were  gone, 
the  minister,  too,  had  gone,  and  jogging  leisurely  along 
upon  his  sorrel  horse,  had  ascertained  the  size  of  his 
fee,  feeling  a  little  disappointed  that  it  was  not  larger 
— five  dollars  seemed  so  small,  when  he  fully  expected 
twenty,  from  one  of  Dr.  Kennedy's  reputed  wealth. 

Janet  had  seen  that  everything  was  done  for  the 
comfort  of  the  travelers,  and  then  out  behind  the 
smokehouse  had  scolded  herself  soundly  for  crying, 
when  she  ought  to  appear  brave,  and  encourage  her 
young  mistress.  Not  the  slightest  hint  had  she  re 
ceived  that  she  was  not  to  follow  them  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  when  at  parting  little  Maude  clung  to  her  skirts, 
beseeching  her  to  go,  she  comforted  the  child  by  tell 
ing  her  what  she  would  bring  her  in  the  autumn,  when 
she  came.  Half  a  dozen  dolls,  as  many  pounds  of 
candy,  a  dancing  jack  and  a  mewing  kitten,  were 
promised,  and  then  the  faithful  creature  turned  to  the 


16  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

weeping  bride,  who  clasped  her  hard  old  hand  convul 
sively,  for  she  knew  it  was  a  long  good-by.  Until  the 
carriage  disappeared  from  view,  did  Mrs.  Kennedy  look 
back  through  blinding  tears  to  the  spot  where  Janet 
stood,  wiping  her  eyes  with  a  corner  of  her  stiffly 
starched  white  apron,  and  holding  up  one  foot  to  keep 
her  from  soiling  her  clean  blue  cotton  stockings,  for,  in 
accordance  with  a  superstition  peculiar  to  her  race,  she 
had  thrown  after  the  travelers  a  shoe,  by  way  of  in 
suring  them  good  luck. 

For  once  in  his  life,  Dr.  Kennedy  tried  to  be  very 
kind  and  attentive  to  his  bride,  who,  naturally  hopeful 
and  inclined  to  look  upon  the  brighter  side,  dried  her 
tears  soon  after  entering  the  cars,  and  began  to  fancy 
she  was  very  happy  in  her  new  position  as  the  wife  of 
Dr.  Kennedy.  The  seat  in  front  of  them  was  turned 
back  and  occupied  by  Maude,  who  busied  herself  awhile 
in  watching  the  fence  and  the  trees,  which  she  said 
were  "  running  so  fast  toward  Janet  and  home ! " 
Then  her  dark  eyes  would  scan  curiously  the  faces  of 
Dr.  Kennedy  and  her  mother,  resting  upon  the  latter 
with  a  puzzled  expression,  as  if  she  could  not  exactly 
understand  it.  The  doctor  persisted  in  calling  her 
Matilda,  and  as  she  resolutely  persisted  in  refusing  to 
answer  to  that  name,  it  seemed  quite  improbable  that 
they  would  ever  talk  much  together.  Occasionally,  it 
is  true,  he  made  her  some  advances,  by  playfully  offer 
ing  her  his  hand,  but  she  would  not  touch  it,  and  after 
a  time,  standing  upon  the  seat  and  turning  round,  she 
found  more  agreeable  society  in  the  company  of  two 
schoolboys  who  sat  directly  behind  her. 

They  were  evidently  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  age, 
and  in  personal  appearance  somewhat  alike,  save  that 
the  face  of  the  brown-haired  boy  was  more  open,  in- 


THE  JOURNEY.  IT 

genuous,  and  pleasing  than  that  of  his  companion,  whose 
hair  and  eyes  were  black  as  night.  A  jolt  of  the  cars 
caused  Maude  to  lay  her  chubby  hand  upon  the  shoulder 
of  the  elder  boy,  who,  being  very  fond  of  children, 
caught  it  within  his  own,  and  in  this  way  made  her 
acquaintance.  To  him  she  was  very  communicative, 
and  in  a  short  time  he  learned  that  "  her  name  was 
Maude  Remington,  that  the  pretty  lady  in  brown  was 
her  mother,  and  that  the  naughty  man  was  not  her 
father,  and  never  would  be,  for  Janet  said  so." 

This  at  once  awakened  an  interest  in  the  boys,  and 
for  more  than  an  hour  they  petted  and  played  with 
the  little  girl,  who,  though  very  gracious  to  both,  still 
manifested  so  much  preference  for  the  brown-haired, 
that  the  other  laughingly  asked  her  which  she  liked 
the  best. 

"  I  like  you  and  you,"  was  Maude's  childlike  answer, 
as  she  pointed  a  finger  at  each. 

"But,"  persisted  her  questioner,  "  you  like  my  cousin 
the  best.  "Will  you  tell  me  why  ? " 

Maude  hesitated  a  moment,  then  laying  a  hand  on 
either  side  of  the  speaker's  face,  and  looking  intently 
into  his  eyes,  she  answered,  "  You  don't  look  as  if  you 
meant  for  certain^  and  he  does  !  " 

Had  Maude  Remington  been  twenty  instead  of  five, 
she  could  not  better  have  defined  the  difference  be 
tween  those  two  young  lads,  and  in  after-years  she  had 
sad  cause  for  remembering  words  which  seemed  al 
most  prophetic.  At  Albany  they  parted  company,  for 
though  the  boys  lived  in  Rochester,  they  were  to  re 
main  in  the  city  through  the  night,  and  Dr.  Kennedy 
had  decided  to  go  on.  By  doing  so  he  would  reach 
home  near  the  close  of  the  next  day,  beside  saving  a 
large  hotel  bill,  and  this  last  was  with  him  a  very 


18  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

weighty  reason.  But  he  did  not  say  so  to  his  wife  ; 
neither  did  he  tell  her  that  he  had  left  orders  for  his 
carriage  to  be  in  Canandaigua  on  the  arrival  of  the 
noon  train,  but  he  said  "  he  was  in  haste  to  show  her 
to  his  daughter — that  'twas  a  maxim  of  his  to  save  as 
much  time  as  possible,  and  that  unless  she  were  very 
anxious  to  sleep,  he  would  rather  travel  all  night."  So 
the  poor,  weary  woman,  whose  head  was  aching  ter 
ribly,  smiled  faintly  upon  him  as  she  said,  "  Go  on,  of 
course,"  and  nibbled  at  the  hard  seed-cakes  and  harder 
crackers  which  he  brought  her,  there  not  being  time 
for  supper  in  Albany. 

It  was  a  long,  tedious  ride,  and  though  a  strong  arm 
was  thrown  around  her,  and  her  head  was  pillowed 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  husband,  who  really  tried  to 
make  her  as  comfortable  as  possible,  Mrs.  Kennedy 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  tears  as  she  thought  how 
different  was  this  bridal  tour  from  what  she  had  antic 
ipated.  She  had  fully  expected  to  pass  by  daylight 
though  the  Empire  State,  and  she  had  thought  with 
how  much  delight  her  eye  would  rest  upon  the  grassy 
meadows,  the  fertile  plains,  the  winding  Mohawk,  the 
drone-like  boats  on  the  canal,  the  beautiful  Cayuga, 
and  the  silvery  water  so  famed  in  song  ;  but,  in  con 
trast  to  all  this,  she  was  shut  up  in  a  dingy  car,  whose 
one  dim  lamp  sent  forth  a  sickly  ray  and  sicklier  smell, 
while  without,  all  was  gloomy,  dark,  and  drear.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  when  toward  morning  Maude,  who 
missed  her  soft,  nice  bed,  began  to  cry  for  Janet  and 
for  home,  the  mother  too  burst  forth  in  tears  and 
choking  sobs,  which  could  not  be  controlled. 

"  Hush,  Matty — don't,"  and  the  disturbed  doctor 
shook  her  very  gently  ;  "  it  will  soon  be  daylight,  and 
'tis  a  max " — here  he  stopped,  for  he  had  no  maxim 


THE  JOURNEY.  19 

suited  to  that  occasion,  and,  in  a  most  unenviable  frame 
of  mind,  he  frowned  at  the  crying  Maude,  and  tried  to 
soothe  his  weeping  wife,  until  at  last,  as  the  face  of  the 
latter  was  covered,  and  the  former  grew  more  noisy 
and  unmanageable,  he  administered  a  fatherly  rebuke 
in  the  shape  of  a  boxed  ear,  which  had  no  other  effect 
than  the  eliciting  from  the  child  the  outcry,  u  Let  me 
be,  old  doctor,  you ! "  if,  indeed,  we  except  the  long 
scratch  made  upon  his  hand  by  the  little  sharp  nail  of 
his  stepdaughter. 

At  that  moment  Matty  lifted  up  her  head,  but  as 
Maude  was  no  tale-bearer,  and  the  doctor  hardly  dared 
to  tell  her  that  he  had  thus  early  taken  upon  himself 
the  government  of  her  child,  she  never  knew  exactly 
what  it  was  which  made  Maude's  ear  so  red  or  her 
liege  lord's  face  so  dark. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  they  arrived  at  Canandai- 
gua,  where  the  first  object  which  caught  Mrs.  Kennedy's 
eye  was  an  old-fashioned  carry -all,  which  her  husband 
honored  with  the  appellation  of  carriage,  said  carriage 
being  drawn  by  two  farm-horses,  which  looked  as  if 
oats  and  corn  were  to  them  luxuries  unknown. 

"  I  must  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Kennedy,  as 
she  saw  the  black  man,  John,  arranging  the  baggage 
upon  the  rack  of  the  carry -all,  and  heard  her  husband 
bid  him  hurry,  as  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  "  I  must 
have  a  cup  of  tea,  my  head  is  aching  dreadfully,"  and 
her  white  lips  quivered,  while  the  tears  rolled  clown 
her  cheeks. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  answered  the  doctor,  who 
was  in  unusually  good  spirits,  having  just  heard  from 
an  acquaintance  whom  he  chanced  to  meet,  that  a  law 
suit,  which  had  long  been  pending,  was  decided  in  his 
favor,  and  that  the  house  and  lot  of  a  widow  would 


20  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

probably  come  into  his  possession.  "  Certainly,  two 
cups  if  you  like  ;  I  should  have  proposed  it  myself  only 
I  knew  old  Hannah  would  have  dinner  in  readiness  for 
us,  and  'tis  a  maxim  of  mine,  that  fasting  provokes  an 
appetite." 

"  Hang  dis  nigger,  if  he  ain't  a  maxin'  her  so  quick  !  " 
muttered  the  darkey,  showing  his  teeth  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  coaxing  Maude  away  from  her  mother,  he 
took  her  to  a  restaurant,  where  he  literally  crammed 
her  with  ginger-bread,  raisins,  and  candy,  bidding  her 
eat  all  she  wanted  at  once,  for  it  would  be  a  long  time 
maybe  ere  she'd  have  another  chance ! 

"  If  you  please,  sar,"  he  said,  when  at  last  he  had 
returned  to  his  master,  "if  you  please,  Miss  Nellie, 
say  how  you  must  fotch  her  somethin',  and  the  old 
woman  spec's  a  present  in  honor  of  de  'casion." 

Dr.  Kennedy  thought  of  the  law-suit,  and  so  far 
opened  both  heart  and  purse  as  to  buy  for  Nellie  a 
paper  of  peanuts,  and  for  Hannah  a  ten-cent  calico 
apron,  after  which,  he  pronounced  himself  in  readiness 
to  go,  and  in  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Kennedy  was  on  her 
way  to  her  new  home. 

The  road  led  over  rocky  hills,  reminding  her  so  much 
of  Vernon  and  its  surrounding  country,  that  a  feeling 
of  rest  stole  over  her  and  she  fell  into  *a  quiet  sleep, 
from  which  she  did  not  awaken  until  the  carriage 
stopped  suddenly  and  her  husband  whispered  in  her 
ear,  "  "Wake,  Matty,  wake,  we  are  home  at  last." 


THE  KEW  HOME.  21 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    NEW    HOME. 

IT  was  a  large,  square,  wooden  building,  built  in  the 
olden  time,  with  a  wide  hall  in  the  center,  a  tiny  por 
tico  in  front  and  a  long  piazza  in  the  rear.  In  all  the 
town,  there  was  not  so  delightful  a  location,  for  it  com 
manded  a  view  of  the  country  for  many  miles  around, 
while,  from  the  chamber  windows,  was  plainly  dis 
cernible,  the  sparkling  Honeoye,  whose  waters  slept  so 
calmly  'mid  the  hills  which  lay  to  the  southward.  On 
the  grassy  lawn  in  front,  tall  forest  trees  were  grow 
ing,  almost  concealing  the  house  from  view,  while  their 
long  branches  so  met  together  as  to  form  a  beautiful 
arch  over  the  graveled  walk  which  led  to  the  front 
door.  It  was,  indeed,  a  pleasant  spot,  and  Matty,  as 
she  passed  through  the  iron  gate,  could  not  account 
for  the  feeling  of  desolation  settling  down  upon  her. 

"  Maybe  it's  because  there  are  no  flowers  here — no 
roses,"  she  thought,  as  she  looked  around  in  vain  for 
her  favorites,  thinking  the  while  how  her  first  work 
should  be  to  train  a  honeysuckle  over  the  door,  and 
plant  a  rosebush  underneath  the  window. 

Poor  Matty.  Dr.  Kennedy  had  no  love  for  flowers, 
and  the  only  rosebush  he  ever  noticed  was  the  one 
which  John  had  planted  at  his  mistress'  grave,  and  even 
this  would,  perchance,  have  been  unseen,  if  he  had  not 
scratched  his  hand  unmercifully  upon  it,  as  he  one  day 
shook  the  stone,  to  see  if  it  were  firmly  placed  in  the 


22  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

ground,  ere  he  paid  the  man  for  putting  it  there !  It 
was  a  maxim  of  the  doctor's  never  to  have  anything 
not  strictly  for  use,  consequently  his  house,  both  outside 
and  in,  was  destitute  of  every  kind  of  ornament,  and 
the  bride,  as  she  followed  him  through  the  empty  hall 
into  the  silent  parlor,  whose  bare  walls,  faded  carpet, 
and  uncurtained  windows  seemed  so  uninviting,  felt  a 
chill  creeping  over  her  spirits,  and  sinking  into  the  first 
hard  chair  she  came  to,  she  might,  perhaps,  have  cried, 
had  not  John  who  followed  close  behind  with  her 
satchel  on  his  arm,  whispered  encouraging^  in  her  ear, 
"Never  you  mind,  missus,  your  chamber  is  a  heap 
sight  brighter  than  this,  'case  I  tended  to  that  mv- 
self." 

Mrs.  Kennedy  smiled  gratefully  upon  him,  feeling 
sure  that  beneath  his  black  exterior  there  beat  a  kind 
and  sympathizing  heart,  and  that  in  him  she  had  an 
ally  and  a  friend. 

"  Where  is  Nellie  ? "  said  the  doctor.  "  Call  Nellie, 
John,  and  tell  your  mother  we  are  here." 

John  left  the  room,  and  a  moment  after  a  little  tiny 
creature  came  tripping  to  the  door,  where  she  stopped 
suddenly,  and  throwing  back  her  curls,  gazed  curiously, 
first  at  Mrs.  Kennedy,  and  then  at  Maude,  whose  large 
black  eyes  fastened  themselves  upon  her  with  a  gaze 
quite  as  curious  and  eager  as  her  own.  She  was  more 
than  a  year  older  than  Maude,  but  much  smaller  in 
size,  and  her  face  seemed  to  have  been  fashioned  after 
a  beautiful  waxen  doll, so  brilliant  washer  complexion, 
and  so  regular  her  features.  She  was  naturally  affec 
tionate  and  amiable,  too,  when  suffered  to  have  her 
own  way.  Neither  was  she  at  all  inclined  to  be  timid, 
and  when  her  father,  taking  her  hand  in  his,  bade 
her  speak  to  her  new  mother,  she  went  unhesitatingly 


THE  NEW  HOME.  23 

to  the  lady,  and  climbing  into  her  lap,  sat  there  very 
quietly  so  long  as  Mrs.  Kennedy  permitted  her  to  play 
with  her  rings,  pull  her  collar,  and  take  out  her  side- 
combs,  for  she  had  laid  aside  her  bonnet ;  but  when  at 
last  her  little  sharp  eyes  ferreted  out  a  watch,  which 
she  insisted  upon  having  "  all  to  herself,"  a  liberty 
which  Mrs.  Kennedy  refused  to  grant,  she  began  to 
pout,  and,  sliding  from  her  new  mother's  lap,  walked 
up  to  Maude,  whose  acquaintance  she  made  by  asking 
if  she  had  a  pink  silk  dress  ? 

"  No,  but  I  guess  Janet  will  bring  me  one,"  answered 
Maude,  whose  eyes  never  for  an  instant  left  the  face  of 
her  stepsister. 

She  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  beauty,  and 
Nellie  had  made  an  impression  upon  her  at  once  ;  so, 
when  the  latter  said,  "  What  makes  you  look  at  me  so 
funny  \ "  she  answered,  "  Because  you  are  so  pretty." 

This  made  a  place  for  her  at  once  in  the  heart  of  the 
vain  little  Nellie,  who  asked  her  to  go  up-stairs  and  see 
the  pink  silk  dress  which  "  Aunt  Kelsey  had  given 
her." 

As  they  left  the  room,  Mrs.  Kennedy  said  to  her  hus 
band,  "  Your  daughter  is  very  beautiful." 

Dr.  Kennedy  liked  to  have  people  say  that  of  his 
child,  for  he  knew  she  was  much  like  himself,  and  he 
stroked  his  brown  beard  complacently,  as  he  replied  : 
"  Yes,  Nellie  is  rather  pretty,  and,  considering  all 
things,  is  as  well-behaved  a  child  as  one  often  finds. 
She  seldom  gets  into  a  passion,  or  does  anything  rude," 
and  he  glanced  at  the  long  scratch  upon  his  hand  ;  but 
as  his  wife  knew  nothing  of  said  scratch,  the  rebuke 
was  wholly  lost,  and  he  continued.  "  I  was  anxious 
that  she  should  be  a  boy,  for  it  is  a  maxim  of  mine 
that  the  oldest  child  in  every  family  ought  to  be  a  son, 


24  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

and  so  I  said,  repeatedly,  to  the  late  Mrs.  Kennedy, 
who,  though  a  most  excellent  woman  in  most  matters, 
was,  in  others,  unaccountably  set  in  her  way.  I  sup 
pose  I  said  some  harsh  things  when  I  heard  it  was  a 
daughter,  but  it  can't  be  helped  now,"  and  with  a 
slightly  injured  air  the  husband  of  "  the  late  Mrs. 
Kennedy  "  began  to  pace  up  and/lown  the  room,  while 
the  present  Mrs.  Kennedy  puzzled  her  rather  weak 
brain  to  know  "  what  in  the  world  he  meant." 

Meantime,  between  John  and  his  mother  there  was  a 
hurried  conversation,  the  former  inquiring  naturally 
after  the  looks  of  her  new  mistress. 

"  Pretty  as  a  pink,"  answered  John,  "  and  neat  as  a 
fiddle,  with  the  sweetest  little  baby  ways,  but  I  tell 
you  what  'tis,"  and  John's  voice  fell  to  a  whisper, 
"  He'll  maxim  her  into  heaven  a  heap  sight  quicker'n 
he  did  t'other  one  ;  case  you  see  she  hain't  so  much — 
what  you  call  him — so  much  go  off  to  her  as  Miss  Katy 
had,  and  she  can't  bar  his  grinding  ways.  They'll 
scrush  her  to  onct — see  if  they  don't.  But  I  knows 
one  thing,  this  yer  nigger  'tends  to  do  his  duty,  and 
hold  up  them  little  cheese-curd  hands  of  her'n,  jest  as 
some  of  them  scripter'  folks  held  up  Moses  with  the 
bulrushes." 

"  And  what  of  the  young  one  ? "  asked  Hannah,  who 
had  been  quite  indignant  at  the  thoughts  of  another 
child  in  the  family,  "  what  of  the  young  one  ? " 

"  Bright  as  a  dollar  !  "  answered  John.  "  Knows 
more'n  a  dozen  of  Nellie,  and  well  she  might,  for  she 
ain't  half  as  white,  and  as  Master  Kennedy  says  it's  a 
maosim  of  mine,  the  blacker  the  hide,  the  better  the 
sense ! " 

By  this  time,  Hannah  had  washed  the  dough  from 
her  hands,  and  taking  the  roast  chicken  from  the  oven, 


THE  NEW  HOME.  25 

she  donned  a  clean  check  apron,  and  started  to  see 
the  stranger  for  herself.  Although  a  tolerable  good 
woman,  Hannah's  face  was  not  very  prepossessing,  and 
Mrs.  Kennedy  intuitively  felt  that  'twould  be  long  be 
fore  her  former  domestic's  place  was  made  good  by  the 
indolent  African.  It  is  true  her  obeisance  was  very 
low,  and  her  greeting  kindly  enough,  but  there  was 
about  her  an  inquisitive,  and  at  the  same  time,  rather 
patronizing  air,  which  Mrs.  Kennedy  did  not  like, 
and  she  was  glad  when  she  at  last  left  the  parlor, 
telling  them,  as  she  did  so,  that  "  dinner  was  done 
ready." 

Notwithstanding  that  the  house  itself  was  so  large, 
the  dining-room  was  a  small,  dark,  cheerless  apartment, 
and  though  she  was  beginning  to  feel  the  want  of  food, 
Mrs.  Kennedy  could  scarcely  force  down  a  mouthful, 
for  the  homesick  feeling  at  her  heart ;  a  feeling  which 
whispered  to  her  that  the  home  to  which  she  had  come, 
was  not  like  that  which  she  had  left.  Dinner  being 
over,  she  asked  permission  to  retire  to  her  chamber, 
saying  she  needed  rest,  and  should  feel  better  after  she 
had  slept.  Nellie  volunteered  to  lead  the  way,  and  as 
they  left  the  dining-room,  old  Hannah,  who  was  notori 
ously  lazy,  muttered  aloud :  "  A  puny,  sickly  thing. 
Great  help  she'll  be  to  me ;  but  I  shan't  stay  to  wait 
on  more'n  forty  more." 

Dr.  Kennedy  had  his  own  private  reason  for  wishing 
to  conciliate  Hannah.  When  he  set  her  free,  he  made 
her  believe  it  was  her  duty  to  work  for  him  for  noth 
ing,  and  though  she  soon  learned  better  and  often 
threatened  to  leave,  he  had  always  managed  to  keep 
her,  for,  on  the  whole,  she  liked  her  place,  and  did  not 
care  to  change  it  for  one  where  her  task  would  be  much 
harder.  But  if  the  new  wife  proved  to  be  sickly 


26  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

matters  would  be  different,  and  so  she  fretted,  as  we 
have  seen,  while  the  doctor  comforted  her  with  the 
assurance  that  Mrs.  Kennedy  was  only  tired — that  sbe 
was  naturally  well  and  strong,  and  would  undoubtedly 
be  of  great  assistance  when  the  novelty  of  her  position 
had  worn  away. 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place,  Mrs.  Ken 
nedy  was  examining  her  chamber  and  thinking  many 
pleasant  things  of  John,  whose  handiwork  was  here 
so  plainly  visible.  All  the  smaller  and  more  fanciful 
pieces  of  furniture  which  the  house  afforded  had  been 
brought  to  this  room,  whose  windows  looked  out  upon 
the  lake  and  the  blue  hills  beyond.  A  clean  white 
towel  concealed  the  marred  condition  of  the  washstand, 
while  the  bed,  which  was  made  up  high  and  round, 
especially  in  the  middle,  looked  very  inviting  with  its 
snowy  spread.  A  large  stuffed  rocking-chair,  more 
comfortable  than  handsome,  occupied  the  center  of  the 
room,  while  better  far  than  all,  the  table,  the  mantel 
and  the  windows  were  filled  with  flowers,  which  John 
had  begged  from  the  neighboring  gardens,  and  which 
seemed  to  smile  a  welcome  upon  the  weary  woman, 
who,  with  a  cry  of  delight,  bent  down  and  kissed  them 
through  her  tears. 

"  Did  these  come  from  your  garden  ?  "  she  asked  of 
Nellie,  who,  childlike,  answered,  "  "We  hain't  any 
flowers.  Pa  won't  let  John  plant  any.  He  told  Aunt 
Kelsey  the  land  had  better  be  used  for  potatoes,  and 
Aunt  Kelsey  said  he  was  too  stingy  to  live." 

"  Who  is  Aunt  Kelsey  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Kennedy,  a 
painful  suspicion  fastening  itself  upon  her  that  the 
lady's  opinion  might  be  correct. 

"  She  is  pa's  sister  Charlotte,"  answered  Nellie,  "  and 
lives  in  Kochester,  in  a  great  big  house,  with  the 


THE  NEW  HOME.  27 

handsomest  things  ;  but  she  don't  come  here  often,  it's 
so  heathenish,  she  says." 

Here  spying  John,  who  was  going  with  the  oxen  to 
the  meadow,  she  ran  away,  followed  by  Maude,  between 
whom  and  herself  there  was  for  the  present  a  most 
amicable  understanding.  Thus  left  alone,  Mrs.  Ken 
nedy  had  time  for  thought,  which  crowded  upon  her 
so  fast  that,  at  last  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed,  she 
wept  bitterly,  half  wishing  she  had  never  come  to 
Laurel  Hill,  but  was  still  at  home  in  her  own  pleasant 
cottage.  Then  hope  whispered  to  her  of  a  brighter 
day,  when  things  would  not  seem  to  her  as  they  now 
did.  She  would  fix  up  the  desolate  old  house,  she 
thought — the  bare  windows  which  now  so  stared  her 
in  the  face,  should  be  shaded  with  pretty  muslin  cur 
tains,  and  she  would  loop  them  back  with  ribbons. 
The  carpet,  too,  on  the  parlor  floor  should  be  exchanged 
for  a  better  one,  and  when  her  piano  and  marble  table 
came,  the  only  articles  of  furniture  she  had  not  sold, 
it  would  not  seem  so  cheerless  and  so  cold. 

Comforted  with  these  thoughts,  she  fell  asleep,  rest 
ing  quietly  until,  just  as  the  sun  had  set  and  it  was 
growing  dark  within  the  room,  Maude  came  rushing 
in,  her  dress  all  wet,  her  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes  red 
with  tears.  She  and  Nellie  had  quarreled — nay,  ac 
tually  fought;  Nellie  telling  Maude  she  was  blacker 
than  a  nigger ,  and  pushing  her  into  the  brook,  while 
Maude,  in  return,  had  pulled  out  a  handful  of  the 
young  lady's  hair,  for  which  her  stepfather  had  shaken 
her  soundly,  and  sent  her  to  her  mother,  whom  she 
begged  "  to  go  home,  and  not  stay  in  that  old  house 
where  the  folks  were  ugly,  and  the  rooms  not  a  bit 
pretty." 

Mrs.  Kennedy's  heart  was  already  full,  and  drawing 


28  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Maude  to  her  side,  the  two  homesick  children  mingled 
their  tears  together,  until  a  heavy  footstep  upon  the 
stairs  announced  the  approach  of  Dr.  Kennedy.  Not 
a  word  did  he  say  of  his  late  adventure  with  Maude, 
and  his  manner  was  very  kind  toward  his  weary  wife, 
who,  with  his  hand  upon  her  aching  forehead,  and  his 
voice  in  her  ear,  telling  her  how  sorry  he  was  that  she 
was  sick,  forgot  that  she  had  been  unhappy. 

"  Whatever  else  he  may  do,"  she  thought,  "  he  cer 
tainly  loves  me,"  and  after  a  fashion  he  did  perhaps 
love  her.  She  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  and  her 
playful,  coquettish  ways  had  pleased  him  at  first  sight. 
He  needed  a  wife,  and  when  their  mutual  friend,  who 
knew  nothing  of  him  save  that  he  was  a  man  of  integ 
rity  and  wealth,  suggested  Matty  Remington,  he  too 
thought  favorably  of  the  matter,  and  yielding  to  the 
fascination  of  her  soft  blue  eyes,  he  had  won  her  for 
his  wife,  pitying  her,  it  may  be,  as  he  sat  by  her  in  the 
gathering  twilight,  and  half  guessed  that  she  was 
homesick.  And  when  he  saw  how  confidingly  she 
clung  to  him,  he  was  conscious  of  a  half-formed  res 
olution  to  be  to  her  what  a  husband  ought  to  be.  But 
Dr.  Kennedy's  resolves  were  like  the  morning  dew,  and 
as  the  days  wore  on,  his  peculiarities,  one  after  another, 
were  discovered  by  his  wife,  who,  womanlike,  tried  to 
think  that  he  was  right  and  she  was  wrong. 

In  due  time  most  of  the  villagers  called  upon  her, 
and  though  they  were  both  intelligent  and  refined,  she 
did  not  feel  altogether  at  ease  in  their  presence,  for  the 
fancy  she  had  that  they  regarded  her  as  one  who  for 
some  reason  was  entitled  to  their  pity.  And  in  this 
she  was  correct.  They  did  pity  her,  for  they  remem 
bered  another  gentle  woman,  whose  brown  hair  had 
turned  gray,  and  whose  blue  eyes  had  waxed  dim 


THE  NEW  HOME.  29 

beneath  the  withering  influence  of  him  she  called  her 
husband.  She  was  dead,  and  when  they  saw  the  young, 
light-hearted  Matty,  they  did  not  understand  how  she 
could  ever  have  been  induced  to  take  that  woman's 
place  and  wed  a  man  of  thirty-eight,  and  they  blamed 
her  somewhat,  until  they  reflected  that  she  knew  noth 
ing  of  him,  and  that  her  fancy  was  probably  captivated 
by  his  dignified  bearing,  his  manly  figure,  and  handsome 
face.  But  these  alone  they  knew  could  not  make 
her  happy,  and  ere  she  had  been  six  weeks  a  wife, 
they  "were  not  surprised  that  her  face  began  to  wear 
a  weary  look,  as  if  the  burden  of  life  were  hard  to 
bear. 

As  far  as  she  could,  she  beautified  her  home,  pur 
chasing  with  her  own  means  several  little  articles 
which  the  doctor  called  useless,  though,  he  never  failed 
to  appropriate  to  himself  the  easy-chair  which  she  had 
bought  for  the  sitting-room,  and  which  when  she  was 
tired  rested  her  so  much.  On  the  subject  of  curtains, 
he  was  particularly  obstinate.  "  There  were  blinds," 
he  said,  "  and  'twas  a  maxim  of  his  never  to  spend  his 
money  for  anything  unnecessary." 

Still,  when  Matty  bought  them  herself  for  the  parlor, 
when  her  piano  was  unboxed  and  occupied  a  corner 
which  had  long  been  destitute  of  furniture,  and  when 
her  marble  table  stood  between  the  windows,  with  a 
fresh  bouquet  of  flowers  which  John  had  brought,  he 
exclaimed  involuntarily,  "  How  nice  this  is  !  "  adding 
the  next  moment,  lest  his  wife  should  be  too  much 
pleased,  "  but  vastly  foolish  !  " 

In  accordance  with  her  husband's  suggestion,  Mrs. 
Kennedy  wrote  to  Janet,  breaking  to  her  as  gently  as 
possible  the  fact  that  she  was  not  to  come,  but  saying 
nothing  definite  concerning  her  new  home,  or  her  own 


80  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

happiness  as  a  second  wife.  Several  weeks  went  by* 
and  then  an  answer  came. 

"  If  you  had  of  wanted  me,"  wrote  Janet,  "  I  should 
of  come,  but  bein'  you  didn't,  I've  went  to  live  with 
Mr.  Blodgett,  who  peddles  milk,  and  raises  butter  and 
cheese,  and  who  they  say  is  worth  a  deal  of  money, 
and  well  he  may  be,  for  he's  saved  this  forty  years." 

Then  followed  a  detailed  account  of  her  household 
matters,  occupying  in  all  three  pages  of  foolscap,  to 
which  was  pinned  a  bit  of  paper,  containing  the  follow 
ing  : 

"  Joel  looked  over  my  writing  and  said  I'd  left  out 
the  very  thing  I  wanted  to  tell  the  most.  We  are 
married,  me  and  Joel,  and  I  only  hope  you  are 
as  happy  with  that  doctor  as  I  am  with  my  old 
man." 

This  announcement  crushed  at  once  the  faint  hope 
which  Mrs.  Kennedy  had  secretly  entertained,  of  event 
ually  having  Janet  to  supply  the  place  of  Hannah,  who 
was  notoriously  lazy,  and  never,  under  any  circum 
stances,  did  anything  she  possibly  could  avoid.  Dr. 
Kennedy  did  not  tell  his  wife  that  he  expected  her  to 
make  it  easy  for  Hannah,  so  she  would  not  leave  them  ; 
but  he  told  her  how  industrious  the  late  Mrs.  Kennedy 
had  been,  and  hinted  that  a  true  woman  was  not  above 
kitchen  work.  The  consequence  of  this  was,  that 
Matty,  who  really  wished  to  please  him,  became,  in 
time  a  very  drudge,  doing  things  which  she  once 
thought  she  could  not  do,  and  then,  without  a  murmur, 
ministering  to  her  exacting  husband  when  he  came 
home  from  visiting  a  patient,  and  declared  himself 
"  tired  to  death."  Yery  still  he  sat,  while  her  weary 
little  feet  ran  for  the  cool  drink — the  daily  paper — or 
the  morning  mail ;  and  very  happy  he  looked  when  her 


THE  NEW  HOME.  31 

snowy  fingers  combed  his  hair  or  brushed  his  thread 
bare  coat,  and  if,  perchance,  she  sighed  amid  her  labor 
of  love,  his  ear  was  deaf,  and  he  did  not  hear,  neither 
did  he  see  how  white  and  thin  she  grew,  as  day  by  day 
went  by. 

Her  piano  was  now  seldom  touched,  for  the  doctor 
did  not  care  for  music ;  still  he  was  glad  that  she  could 
play,  for  "  Sister  Kelsey,"  who  was  to  him  a  kind  of 
terror,  would  insist  that  Nellie  should  take  music  lessons, 
and,  as  his  wife  was  wholly  competent  to  give  them, 
he  would  be  spared  a  very  great  expense.  "  Save,  save, 
save"  seemed  to  be  his  motto,  and  when  at  church  the 
plate  was  passed  to  him,  he  gave  his  dime  a  loving 
pinch  ere  parting  company  with  it ;  and  yet  none  read 
the  service  louder,  or  defended  his  favorite  liturgy 
more  zealously  than  himself.  In  some  things  he  was 
a  pattern  man,  and  when  once  his  servant  John  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  withdrawing  from  the  Episco 
palians  and  joining  himself  to  the  Methodists,  who 
held  their  meetings  in  the  schoolhouse,  he  was  greatly 
shocked,  and  labored  long  with  the  degenerate  son  of 
Ethiopia,  who  would  render  to  him  no  reason  for  his 
most  unaccountable  taste,  though  he  did  to  Matty, 
when  she  questioned  him  of  his  choice. 

"  You  see,  missus,"  said  he,  "  I  wasn't  allus  a  herry  tic, 
but  was  as  good  a  'piscopal  as  St.  George  ever  had. 
That's  when  I  lived  in  Virginny,  and  was  hired  out  to 
Marster  Morton,  who  had  a  school  for  boys,  and  who 
iarnt  me  how  to  read  a  little.  After  I'd  arn't  a  heap 
of  money  for  Marster  Kennedy,  he  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Legislatur',  and  as  some  on  'em  wouldn't  vote  for  him 
while  he  owned  a  nigger,  he  set  me  free,  and  sent  for 
me  to  come  home.  'Twas  hard  partin'  wid  dem  boys 
and  Marster  Morton,  I  tell  you,  but  I  kinder  wanted 


82  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

to  see  mother,  who  had  been  here  a  good  while,  and 
who,  like  a  fool,  was  a  workin'  an'  is  a  workin'  for 
nothin'." 

"  For  nothing !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kennedy,  a  sus 
picion  of  the  reason  why  Janet  was  refused  crossing 
her  mind. 

"  Yes,  inarm,  for  nothm',"  answered  John,  "  but  I 
ain't  green  enough  for  that,  and  'fused  outright.  Then 
Marster,  who  got  beat  'lection  day,  threatened  to  send 
me  back,  but  I  knew  he  couldn't  do  it,  and  so  he  agreed 
to  pay  eight  dollars  a  month.  I  could  get  more  some 
whar  else,  but  I'd  rather  stay  with  mother,  and  so  I 
stayed." 

"  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  church,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Kennedy,  and  John  replied  : 

"  I'm  comin'  to  the  p'int  now.  I  lived  with  Marster 
Kennedy,  and  went  with  him  to  church,  and  when  I 
see  how  he  carried  on  week  days,  and  how  peart  like 
he  read  up  Sabba'  days,  sayin'  the  Lord's  prar  and 
'Postle's  Creed,  I  began  to  think  thar's  somethin'  rotten 
in  Denmark,  as  the  boys  use  to  say  in  Virginny,  so 
when  mother,  who  allus  was  a  roarin'  Methodis'  asked 
me  to  go  wid  her  to  meetin',  I  went,  and  was  never  so 
mortified  in  my  life,  for  arter  the  elder  had  'xorted  a 
spell  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  he  sot  down  and  said  there 
was  room  for  others.  I  couldn't  see  how  that  was, 
bein'  he  took  up  the  whole  chair,  and  while  I  was 
wonderin'  what  he  meant,  as  I'm  a  livin'  nigger,  up 
got  marm  and  spoke  a  piece  right  in  meetin' !  I  never 
was  so  'shamed,  and  I  keppullin'at  hergownd  to  make 
her  set  down,  but  the  harder  I  pulled,  the  louder  she 
hollored,  till  at  last  she  blowed  her  breath  all  away, 
and  down  she  sot." 

"  And  did  any  of  the  rest  speak  pieces  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 


THE  NEW  HOME.  33 

Kennedy,  convulsed  with  laughter,  at  John's  vivid 
description. 

"  Bless  your  heart,"  he  answered  with  a  knowing- 
look,  "'twan't  &  piece  she  Avas  speaking — she  wastellin' 
her  'sperience,  but  it  sounded  so  like  the  boys  at  school 
that  I  was  deceived,  for  I'd  never  seen  such  work  be 
fore.  But  I've  got  so  I  like  it  now,  and  I  believe  thar's 
more  'sistency  down  in  that  schoolhouse,  than  thar  is 
in — I  won't  say  the  'Piscapal  church,  'case  thar's  heaps 
of  shinin'  lights  thar,  but  if  you  won't  be  mad,  I'll 
say  more  than  thar  is  in  Marster  Kennedy,  who  has 
hisself  to  thank  for  my  bein'  a  Methodis'." 

Whatever  Mrs.  Kennedy  might  have  thought,  she 
could  not  help  laughing  heartily  at  John,  who  was  now 
a  decided  Methodist,  and  adorned  his  profession  far 
more  than  his  selfish,  hard-hearted  master.  His  prom 
ise  of  holding  up  his  mistress'  hands  had  been  most 
faithfully  kept,  and,  without  any  disparagement  to 
Janet,  Mrs.  Kennedy  felt  that  the  loss  of  her  former 
servant  was  in  a  great  measure  made  up  to  her  in  the 
kind  negro,  who,  as  the  months  went  by  and  her  face 
grew  thinner  each  day,  purchased  with  his  own  money 
many  a  little  delicacy,  which  he  hoped  would  tempt 
her  capricious  appetite.  Maude,  too,  was  a  favorite 
with  John,  both  on  account  of  her  color,  which  he 
greatly  admired,  and  because,  poor,  ignorant  creature 
though  he  was,  he  saw  in  her  the  germ  of  the  noble 
girl,  who,  in  the  coming  years,  was  to  bear  uncom 
plainingly  a  burden  of  care  from  which  the  selfish 
Nellie  would  unhesitatingly  turn  away. 

Toward  Maude  the  doctor  had  ever  manifested  a 
feeling  of  aversion,  both  because  of  her  name,  and  be 
cause  she  had  compelled  him  to  yield  when  his  mind 
was  fully  made  up  to  do  otherwise.  She  had  resolutely 


84  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

refused  to  be  called  Matilda,  and  as  it  was  necessary 
for  him  sometimes  to  address  her,  he  called  her  first, 
"  You  girl,"  then.  "  Mat,"  and  finally  arrived  at 
"Maude"  speaking  it  always  spitefully,  as  if  pro 
voked  that  he  had  once  in  his  life  been  conquered. 
With  the  management  of  her  he  seldom  interfered,  for 
that  scratch  had  given  him  a  timely  lesson,  and  as  he 
did  not  like  to  be  unnecessarily  troubled,  he  left  both 
Maude  and  Nellie  to  his  wife,  who  suffered  the  la.tter 
to  do  nearly  as  she  pleased,  and  thus  escaped  many  of 
the  annoyances  to  which  stepmothers  are  usually 
subject. 

Although  exceedingly  selfish,  Nellie  was  affectionate 
in  her  disposition,  and  when  Maude  did  not  cross  her 
path  the  two  were  on  the  best  of  terms.  Disturbances 
there  were,  however — quarrels  and  fights,  in  the  latter 
of  which,  Maude,  being  the  stronger  of  the  two,  al 
ways  came  off  victor ;  but  these  did  not  last  long,  and 
had  her  husband  been  to  her  what  he  ought,  Mrs. 
Kennedy's  life  would  not  have  been  as  dreary  as  it 
was.  He  meant  well  enough,  perhaps,  but  he  did  not 
understand  a  woman,  much  less  know  how  to  treat  her, 
and  as  the  winter  months  went  by,  Matty's  heart  would 
have  fainted  within  her,  but  for  a  hope  which  whis 
pered  to  her  "  He  will  love  me  better  when  next  sum 
mer  comes." 


LITTLE    LOUIS,  35 


CHAPTEE  IY. 

LITTLE  LOUIS. 

IT  is  just  one  year  since  the  summer  morning  when 
Matty  Kennedy  took  upon  herself  a  second  time  the 
duties  of  a  wife,  and  now  she  lies  in  a  darkened  room, 
her  face  white  as  the  winter  snow,  and  her  breath 
scarcely  perceptible  to  the  touch,  as  it  comes  faintly  from 
her  parted  lips.  In  dignified  silence  the  doctor  sits  by, 
counting  her  feeble  pulse,  while  an  expression  of  pride, 
and  almost  perfect  happiness  breaks  over  his  face  as  he 
glances  toward  the  cradle,  which  Hannah  has  brought 
from  the  garret,  and  where  now  slept  the  child  born  to 
him  that  day.  His  oft  repeated  maxim  that  if  the 
first  were  not  a  boy  the  second  ought  to  be,  had  pre 
vailed  at  last,  and  Dombey  had  a  son.  It  was  a  puny 
thing,  but  the  father  said  it  looked  as  Nellie  did  when 
she  first  rested  there,  and  Nellie,  holding  back  her 
breath  and  pushing  aside  her  curls,  bent  down  to  see 
the  red-faced  infant. 

"  I  was  never  as  ugly  as  that,  and  I  don't  love  him  a 
bit !  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  away  in  disgust ;  while 
Maude  approached  on  tip-toe,  and  kneeling  by  the 
cradle  side,  kissed  the  unconscious  sleeper,  whispering 
as  she  did  so,  "  /love  you,  poor  little  brother." 

Darling  Maude — blessed  Maude — in  all  your  after 
life,  you  proved  the  truth  of  those  low  spoken  words, 
"  I  love  you,  poor  little  brother." 


36  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

For  many  days  did  Mrs.  Kennedy  hover  between 
life  and  death,  never  asking  for  her  baby,  and  seldom 
noticing  her  husband,  who,  while  declaring  there  was 
no  danger,  still  deemed  it  necessary,  in  case  anything 
should  happen,  to  send  for  his  sister,  Mrs.  Kelsey,  who 
had  not  visited  him  since  his  last  marriage.  She  was 
a  proud,  fashionable  woman,  who  saw  nothing  attrac 
tive  in  the  desolate  old  house,  and  who  had  conceived 
an  idea  that  her  brother's  second  wife  was  a  sort  of 
nobody,  whom  he  had  picked  up  among  the  New  Eng 
land  hills.  But  the  news  of  her  illness  softened  her 
feelings  in  a  measure,  and  she  started  for  Laurel  Hill, 
thinking  that  if  Matty  died,  she  hoped  a  certain  dash 
ing,  brilliant  woman,  called  Maude  Glendower,  might 
go  there  and  govern  the  tyrannical  doctor,  even  as  he 
had  governed  others. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  she  reached  her 
brother's  house,  from  which  Nellie  came  running  out 
to  meet  her,  accompanied  by  Maude.  From  the  latter 
the  lady  at  first  turned  disdainfully  away,  but  ere  long 
stole  another  look  at  the  brown-faced  girl,  about  whom 
there  was  something  very  attractive. 

"  Curtains,  as  I  live ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  entered 
the  parlor.  "  A  piano,  and  marble  table,  too.  Where 
did  these  come  from  ? " 

"  They  are  ma's,  and  she's  got  a  baby  up-stairs,"  an 
swered  Maude,  and  the  lady's  hand  rested  for  an  in 
stant  on  the  little  curly  head,  for  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  she  esteemed  more  highly  a  woman  who  owned 
a  piano  and  handsome  table,  than  she  did  one  whose 
worldly  possessions  were  more  limited. 

After  making  some  changes  in  her  dress,  she  went 
up  to  the  sick-room,  and  as  Matty  was  asleep,  she  had 
ample  time  to  examine  her  face,  and  also  to  inspect  the 


LITTLE  LOUIS.  37 

room,  which  showed  in  some  one  a  refined  and  delicate 
taste. 

"  She  must  be  more  of  a  lady  than  I  supposed,"  she 
thought,  and  when  at  last,  her  sister-in-law  awoke,  she 
greeted  her  kindly,  and  during  her  visit,  which  lasted 
nearly  two  weeks,  she  exerted  herself  to  be  agreeable, 
succeeding  so  far  that  Matty  parted  from  her  at  last 
with  genuine  regret. 

"  Poor  thing — she'll  never  see  another  winter,"  was 
Mrs.  Kelsey's  mental  comment,  as  she  bade  the  invalid 
good-by,  but  in  this  she  was  mistaken,  for  with  the 
falling  of  the  leaf  Matty  began  to  improve,  and  though 
she  never  fully  regained  her  health,  she  was  able  again 
to  be  about  the  house,  doing  far  more  than  she  ought 
to  have  done,  but  never  uttering  a  word  of  complaint, 
however  heavy  was  the  burden  imposed  upon  her. 

With  Maude  and  her  baby,  who  bore  the  name  of 
Louis,  she  found  her  greatest  comfort.  He  was  a  sweet, 
playful  child,  and  sure  never  before  was  father  so  fool 
ishly  proud  of  his  son,  as  was  Dr.  Kennedy  of  his.  For 
hours  would  he  sit  watching  him  while  he  slept,  and 
building  castles  of  the  future,  when  "  Louis  Kennedy, 
only  son  of  Dr.  Kennedy,"  should  be  honored  among 
men.  Toward  the  mother,  too,  who  had  borne  him 
such  a  prodigy,  he  became  a  little  more  indulgent, 
occasionally  suffering  her  wishes  to  prevail  over  his 
maxims,  and  on  three  several  occasions  giving  her  a 
dollar  to  spend  as  she  pleased.  Surely  such  generosity 
did  not  deserve  so  severe  a  punishment  as  was  in  store 
for  the  proud  father. 

Louis  had  a  most  beautiful  face,  and  in  his  soft, 
brown  eyes  there  was  a  "  look  like  the  angels,"  as 
Maude  once  said  to  her  mother,  who  seldom  spoke  of 
him  without  a  sigh,  for  on  her  mind  a  terrible  fear  was 


38  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

fastening  itself.  Although  mentally  as  forward  as 
other  children,  Louis's  body  did  not  keep  pace  with  the 
growth  of  his  intellect,  and  when  he  was  two  years  of 
age,  he  could  not  bear  his  weight  upon  his  feet,  but  in 
creeping  dragged  his  limbs  slowly,  as  if  in  them  there 
•was  no  life — no  strength. 

"  Ma,  why  don't  Louis  walk  ? "  asked  Maude,  one 
evening  when  she  saw  how  long  it  took  him  to  cross 
the  room. 

"  Loui'  tan't  walk,"  answered  the  child,  who  talked 
with  perfect  ease. 

The  tears  came  instantly  to  Mrs.  Kennedy's  eyes, 
for,  availing  herself  of  her  husband's  absence,  she  had 
that  morning  consulted  another  physician,  who,  after 
carefully  examining  Louis's  body,  had  whispered  in 
the  poor  woman's  ear  that  which  made  every  nerve 
quiver  with  pain,  while  at  the  same  time  it  made  dearer 
a  thousand-fold  her  baby-boy ;  for  a  mother's  pity 
increases  a  mother's  love. 

"  Say,  ma,  what  is  it  ?  "  persisted  Maude.  "  "Will 
Louis  ever  walk  ? " 

"  Loui'll  never  walk,"  answered  the  little  fellow, 
shaking  his  brown  curls,  and  tearing  in  twain  a  pic 
ture-book  which  his  father  had  bought  him  the  day 
before. 

"Maude,"  said  Mrs.  Kennedy,  drawing  her  daughter 
to  her  side,  "  I  must  tell  somebody  or  my  heart  will 
burst,"  and  laying  her  head  upon  the  table,  she  wept 
aloud. 

"Don't  try  ma,  Loui'  good,"  lisped  the  infant  on  the 
floor,  while  Mrs.  Kennedy,  drying  at  last  her  tears,  told 
to  the  wondering  Maude  that  Louis  was  not  like  other 
children — that  he  would  probably  never  have  the  use 
of  his  feet — that  a  bunch  was  growing  on  his  back — 


LITTLE  LOUIS.  39 

and  he  in  time  would  be" — she  could  not  say  deformed, 
and  so  she  said  at  last,  "  he'll  be  forever  lame." 

Poor  little  Maude !  How  all  her  childish  dreams 
were  blasted  !  She  had  anticipated  so  much  pleasure  in 
guiding  her  brother's  tottering  footsteps,  in  leading 
him  to  school,  to  church,  and  everywhere,  and  she 
could  not  have  him  lame. 

"  Oh,  Louis,  Louis  !  "  she  cried,  winding  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  as  if  she  would  thus  avert  the  dreaded 
evil. 

Very  wonderfully  the  child  looked  up  into  her  eyes, 
and  raising  his  waxen  hand,  he  wiped  her  tears  away, 
saying,  as  he  did  so,  "  Loui'  love  Maude." 

With  a  choking  sob  Maude  kissed  her  baby  brother, 
then  going  back  to  her  mother,  whose  head  still  lay 
upon  the  table,  she  whispered,  "  We  will  love  poor 
Louis  all  the  more,  you  and  I." 

Blessed  Maude,  we  say  again,  for  these  were  no  idle 
words,  and  the  clinging,  tender  love  with  which  she 
cherished  her  unfortunate  brother,  ought  to  have 
shamed  the  heartless  man,  who,  when  he  heard  of  his 
affliction,  refused  to  be  comforted,  and  almost  cursed 
the  day  when  his  only  son  was  born.  He  had  been 
absent  for  a  week  or  more,  and  with  the  exception  of 
the  time  when  he  first  knew  he  had  a  son,  he  did  not 
remember  of  having  experienced  a  moment  of  greater 
happiness  than  that  in  which  he  reached  his  home, 
where  dwelt  his  boy — his  pride — his  idol.  Louis  was 
not  in  the  room,  and  on  the  mother's  face  there  was 
an  expression  of  sadness,  which  at  once  awakened  the 
father's  fears  lest  something  had  befallen  his  child. 

"  Where  is  Louis  ?  "  he  asked.  "  lias  anything  hap 
pened  to  him  that  you  look  so  pale  ?  " 

"  Louis  is  well,"  answered  Matty,  and  then  unable 


40  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

longer  to  control  her  feelings,  she  burst  into  tears, 
while  the  doctor  looked  on  in  amazement,  wondering 
if  all  women  were  as  nervous  and  foolish  as  the  two 
it  had  been  his  fortune  to  marry. 

"  Oh,  husband,"  she  cried,  feeling  sure  of  his  sym 
pathy,  and  thinking  it  better  to  tell  the  truth  at  once ; 
"  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  Louis  was  not  like 
other  children  ? " 

"  Of  course  it  has,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  He  is  a 
thousand  times  brighter  than  any  child  I  have  ever 
known." 

"  'Tisn't  that,  'tisn't  that,"  said  Matty.  "  He'll  never 
walk — he's  lame — deformed  !  " 

"  "What  do  you  mean  ?  "  thundered  the  doctor,  reel 
ing  for  an  instant  like  a  drunken  man,  then'recovering 
his  composure,  he  listened  while  Matty  told  him  what 
she  meant. 

At  that  moment,  Maude  drew  Louis  into  the  room, 
and  taking  the  child  in  his  arms,  the  doctor  examined 
him  for  himself,  wondering  he  had  never  observed  be 
fore  how  small  and  seemingly  destitute  of  life  were  his 
lower  limbs.  The  bunch  upon  the  back,  though  slight 
as  yet,  was  really  there,  and  Matty,  when  questioned, 
said  it  had  been  there  for  weeks,  but  she  did  not  tell  of 
it,  for  she  hoped  it  would  go  away. 

"  It  will  stay  until  his  dying  day,"  he  muttered,  as 
he  ordered  Maude  to  take  the  child  away.  "  Louis  de 
formed  !  Louis  a  cripple !  What  have  I  done  that 
I  should  be  thus  sorely  punished  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  when 
he  was  alone  with  his  wife,  and  then,  as  he  dared  not 
blame  the  Almighty,  he  charged  it  to  her  until  at  last  his 
thoughts  took  another  channel — "  Maude  had  dropped 
him — he  knew  she  had,  and  Matty  was  to  blame 
for  letting  her  handle  him  so  much,  when  she  knew 


LITTLE  LOUIS.  41 

'twas  a  maxim  of  his  that  children  should  not  take 
care  of  children." 

He  had  forgotten  the  time  when  his  worn-out  wife 
had  asked  him  to  hire  a  nurse  girl  for  Louis,  and  he 
had  answered  that  "  Maude  was  large  enough  for 
that."  On  some  points  his  memory  was  treacherous, 
and  for  days  he  continued  to  repine  at  his  hard  fate, 
wishing  once  in  Matty's  presence  that  Louis  had  never 
been  born. 

"  Oh,  husband,"  she  cried,  "  how  can  you  say  that ! 
Do  you  hate  our  poor  boy  because  he  is  a  cripple  ?  " 

"  A  cripple ! "  roared  the  doctor.  "  Never  use  that 
word  again  in  my  presence.  My  son  a  cripple  !  I  can't 
have  it  so  !  I  won't  have  it  so  !  for  'tis  a  max " 

Here  he  stopped,  being  for  a  second  time  in  his  life 
at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

"  Sarve  'em  right,  sarve  'em  right,"  muttered  John, 
whose  quick  eye  saw  everything.  "  Ole  Sam  payin' 
him  off  good.  He  think  he'll  be  in  the  seventh  heaven 
when  he  got  a  boy,  and  he  mighty  nigh  torment  that 
little  gal's  life  out  with  his  mexens  and  things — but 
now  he  got  a  boy,  he  feel  a  heap  like  the  bad  place." 

Still  much  as  John  rejoiced  that  his  master  was  so 
punished,  his  heart  went  out  in  pity  toward  the  help 
less  child  whom  he  almost  worshiped,  •  carrying  him, 
often  to  the  fields,  where,  seeking  out  the  shadiest  spot 
and  the  softest  grass  for  a  throne,  he  would  place  the 
child  upon  it,  and  then  pay  him  obeisance  by  bobbing 
up  and  down  his  wooly  head  in  a  manner  quite  as  satis 
factory  to  Louis  as  if  he  indeed  had  been  a  king  and 
John  his  loyal  subject.  Old  Hannah,  too,  was  greatly 
softened,  and  many  a  little  cake  and  pie  she  baked  in 
secret  for  the  child,  while  even  Nellie  gave  up  to  him 
Jier  favorite  playthings  and  her  blue  eyes  wore  a  pity- 


42  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

ing  look  whenever  they  rested  on  the  poor  unfortunate. 
All  loved  him  seemingly  the  more — all,  save  the  cruel 
father,  who,  as  the  months  and  years  rolled  on,  seemed 
to  acquire  a  positive  dislike  to  the  little  boy,  seldom 
noticing  him  in  any  way,  except  to  frown  if  he  were 
brought  into  his  sight.  And  Louis,  with  the  quick 
instinct  of  childhood,  learned  to  expect  nothing  from 
his  father,  whose  attention  he  never  tried  to  attract. 

As  if  to  make  amends  for  his  physical  deformity,  he 
possessed  an  uncommon  mind,  and  when  he  was  nearly 
six  years  of  age  accident  revealed  to  him  the  reason  of 
his  father's  continued  coldness,  and  wrung  from  him 
the  first  tears  he  had  ever  shed  for  his  misfortune.  He 
heard  one  day  his  mother  praying  that  God  would 
soften  her  husband's  heart  toward  his  poor  hunchback 
boy,  who  was  not  to  blame  for  his  misfortune — and 
laying  his  head  upon  the  broad  arm  of  the  chair  which 
had  been  made  for  him,  he  wept  bitterly,  for  he  knew 
now  why  he  was  not  loved.  That  night,  as  in  his  crib 
he  lay,  watching  the  stars  which  shone  upon  him 
through  the  window,  and  wondering  if  in  heaven  there 
were  hunchback  boys  like  him,  he  overheard  his  father 
talking  to  his  mother,  and  the  -words  that  father  said 
were  never  forgotten  to  his  dying  day.  They  were  : 
"  Don't  ask  me  to  be  reconciled  to  a  cripple  !  What 
good  can  he  do  me?  He  will  never  earn  his  own 
living,  lame  as  he  is,  and  will  only  be  in  the  way." 

"  Oh,  father,  father,"  the  cripple  essayed  to  say,  but 
he  could  not  speak,  so  full  of  pain  was  his  little,  burst 
ing  heart,  and  that  night  he  lay  awake,  praying  that 
he  might  die,  and  so  be  out  of  the  way. 

The  next  morning  he  asked  Maude  to  draw  him  to 
the  churchyard  where  <%  his  other  mother,"  as  he  called 
her,  was  buried.  Maude  complied,  and  when  they 


LITTLE  LOUIS.  43 

were  there,  placed  him  at  his  request  upon  the  ground, 
where,  stretching  himself  out  at  his  full  length,  he 
said :  "  Look,  Maude,  won't  mine  be  a  little  grave  ? " 
then,  ere  she  could  answer  the  strange  question,  he 
continued,  "  I  want  to  die  so  bad  ;  and  if  you  leave  me 
lying  here  in  the  long  grass  maybe  God's  angel  will 
take  me  up  to  Heaven.  Will  I  be  lame  there,  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Louis,  Louis,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  cried 
Maude,  and  as  well  as  he  could,  for  the  tears  he  shed, 
Louis  told  her  what  he  meant. 

"  Father  don't  love  me  because  I'm  lame,  and  he 
called  me  a  cripple,  too.  What  is  a  cripple,  Maude  2 
Is  it  anything  very  bad  f  "  and  his  beautiful  brown 
eyes  turned  anxiously  to  \vard  his  sister. 

He  had  never  heard  that  word  before,  and  to  him  it 
had  a  fearful  significance,  even  worse  than  lameness. 
In  an  instant  Maude  knelt  by  his  side — his  head  was 
pillowed  on  her  bosom,  and  in  the  silent  graveyard, 
with  the  quiet  dead  around  them,  she  spoke  blessed 
words  of  comfort  to  her  brother,  telling  him  what  a 
cripple  was,  and  that  because  he  bore  that  name  he 
was  dearer  far  to  her. 

"  Your  father  will  love  you,  too,"  she  said,  "  when 
he  learns  how  good  you  are.  He  loves  Nellie,  and — " 

Ere  she  could  say  more  she  was  interrupted  by  Louis, 
on  whose  mind  another  truth  had  dawned,  and  who 
now  said,  "  but  he  don't  love  you  as  he  does  Nellie. 
Why  not  ?  Are  you  a  cripple,  too  ?  " 

Folding  him  still  closer  in  her  arms,  and  kissing  his 
fair,  white  brow,  Maude  answered :  "  Your  father, 
Louis,  is  not  mine — for  mine  is  dead,  and  his  grave  is 
far  away.  I  came  here  to  live  when  I  was  a  little 
girl,  not  quite  as  old  as  you,  and  Nellie  is  not  my 
sister,  though  you  are  my  darling  brother." 


44  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  And  do  you  love  father  ?  "  asked  Louis,  his  eyes 
still  fixed  upon  her  face  as  if  he  would  read  the  truth. 

Every  feeling  of  Maude  Remington's  heart  answered, 
"  No,"  to  that  question,  but  she  could  not  say  so  to  the 
boy,  and  she  replied,  "  Not  as  I  could  love  my  own 
father — neither  does  he  love  me,  for  I  am  not  his 
child." 

This  explanation  was  not  then  wholly  clear  to  Louis, 
but  he  understood  that  there  was  a  barrier  between  his 
father  and  Maude,  and  this  of  itself  was  sufficient  to 
draw  him  more  closely  to  the  latter,  who,  after  that 
day,  cherished  him,  if  possible,  more  tenderly  than  she 
had  done  before,  keeping  him  out  of  his  father's  way, 
and  cushioning  his  little  crutches  so  they  could  not  be 
heard,  for  she  rightly  guessed  that  the  sound  of  them, 
was  hateful  to  the  harsh  man's  ears. 

Maude  was  far  older  than  her  years,  and  during  the 
period  of  time  over  which  we  have  passed  so  briefly, 
she  had  matured  both  in  mind  and  body,  until  now  at 
the  age  of  twelve,  she  was  a  self-reliant  little  woman 
on  whom  her  mother  wholly  depended  for  comfort  and 
counsel.  Very  rapidly  was  Mrs.  Kennedy  passing 
from  the  world,  and  as  she  felt  the  approach  of  death, 
she  leaned  more  and  more  upon  her  daughter,  talking 
to  her  often  of  the  future  and  commending  Louis  to 
her  care,  when  with  her  he  would  be  motherless. 
Maude's  position  was  now  a  trying  one,  for,  when  her 
mother  became  too  ill  to  leave  her  room,  and  the  doctor 
refused  to  hire  extra  help,  saying,  "  two  great  girls 
were  help  enough,"  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  go  into 
the  kitchen,  where  she  vainly  tried  to  conciliate  old 
Hannah,  who  "  wouldn't  mind  a  chit  of  a  girl,  and 
wouldn't  fret  herself  either  if  things  were  not  half 
done." 


LITTLE  LOUIS.  45 

From  the  first  Nellie  resolutely  refused  to  work — "  it 
would  black  her  hands,"  she  said,  and  as  her  father 
never  remonstrated,  she  spent  her  time  in  reading, 
admiring  her  pretty  face,  and  drumming  upon  the 
piano,  which  Maude,  who  was  fonder  even  than  Nellie 
of  music,  seldom  found  time  to  touch.  One  there  was, 
however,  who  gave  to  Maude  every  possible  assistance, 
and  this  was  John.  "  Having  tried  his  hand,"  as  he 
said,  "  at  everything  in  Marster  Norton's  school,"  he 
proved  of  invaluable  service — sweeping,  dusting,  wash 
ing  dishes,  cleaning  knives,  and  once  ironing  Dr. 
Kennedy's  shirts,  when  old  Hannah  was  in  what  he 
called  her  "  tantrums."  But  alas  for  John — the  entire 
print  of  the  iron  upon  the  bosom  of  one,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  piles  of  starch  upon  another,  and  more  than  all, 
the  tremendous  scolding  which  he  received  from  the 
owner  of  said  shirt,  warned  him  never  to  turn  laundress 
again,  and  in  disgust  he  gave  up  his  new  vocation, 
devoting  his  leisure  moments  to  the  cultivation  of 
flowers,  which  he  carried  to  his  mistress,  who  smiled 
gratefully  upon  him,  saying  they  were  the  sweetest  she 
had  ever  smelt.  And  so  each  morning  a  fresh  bouquet 
was  laid  upon  her  pillow,  and  as  she  inhaled  their 
perfume,  she  thought  of  her  New  England  home,  which, 
she  would  never  see  again — thought,  too  of  Janet, 
whose  cheering  words  and  motherly  acts  would  be  so 
grateful  to  her  now  when  she  so  much  needed  care. 

"  'Tis  a  long  time  since  I've  heard  from  her,"  she 
said  one  day  to  Maude.  "  Suppose  you  write  to 
morrow,  and  tell  her  I  am  sick — tell  her,  too,  that  the 
sight  of  her  would  almost  make  me  well,  and  maybe 
she  will  come,"  and  on  the  sick  woman's  face  there 
was  a  joyous  expression  as  she  thought  how  pleasant 
it  would  be  to  see  once  more  one  who  had  breathed  the 


46  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

air  of  her  native  hills — had  looked  upon  her  Harry's 
grave — nay,  had  known  her  Harry  when  in  life,  and 
wept  over  him  in  death. 

Poor,  lonesome,  homesick  woman !  Janet  shall 
surely  come  in  answer  to  your  call,  and  ere  you  deem 
it  possible  her  shadow  shall  fall  across  your  threshold 
— her  step  be  heard  upon  the  stairs — her  hand  be 
clasped  in  yours ! 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  47 


CHAPTER  Y. 

MRS.    JANET    BLODGETT. 

IT  was  a  chilly,  rainy  afternoon  toward  the  latter 
part  of  August.  John  was  gone,  the  doctor  was  cross, 
and  Hannah  was  cross.  Nellie,  too,  was  unusually 
irritable,  and  venting  her  spite  upon  Hannah  because 
there  was  nothing  for  dinner  fit  to  eat,  and  upon  Maude 
because  the  house  was  so  desolate  and  dark,  she  crept 
away  up -stairs,  and  wrapping  a  shawl  round  her,  sat 
down  to  a  novel,  pausing  occasionally  to  frown  at  the 
rain  which  beat  at  the  windows,  or  the  wind  as  it 
roared  dismally  through  the  trees.  While  thus  em 
ployed,  she  heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  looking  up, 
saw  standing  before  their  gate  a  muddy  wagon,  from 
which  a  little,  dumpy  figure  in  black  was  alighting, 
carefully  holding  up  her  alpaca  dress,  and  carrying  in 
one  hand  a  small  box  which  seemed  to  be  full  of 
flowers. 

"  She  must  have  come  to  stay  a  long  time,"  thought 
Nellie,  as  she  saw  the  piles  of  baggage  which  the 
driver  was  depositing  upon  the  stoop.  "  "Who  can  it 
be  ?  "  she  continued,  as  she  recalled  all  her  aunts  and 
cousins,  and  found  that  none  of  them  answered  the 
description  of  this  woman,  who  knocked  loudly  at  the 
door,  and  then  walked  in  to  shelter  herself  from  the 
storm. 

"  Forlornity  ! "  Nellie  heard  her  exclaim,  as  she  left 
the  chamber  in  answer  to  the  summons.  "  Forlornity  ! 


48  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

No  table,  no  hat-stand,  no  nothin',  and  the  dingiest  old 
ilecloth  !  What  does  it  mean  ?  Your  servant,  Miss," 
she  added,  dropping  a  curtesy  to  Nellie,  who  now  stood 
on  the  stairs,  with  her  finger  between  the  pages  of 
her  book,  so  as  not  to  lose  the  place.  "  I  guess  I've 
made  a  mistake,"  said  the  woman ;  "  is  this  Dr. 
Canady's  ? " 

"  It  is,"  answered  Nellie,  and  the  stranger  continued, 
"  Dr.  Canady  who  married  the  widder  Remington  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  returned  Nellie,  thinking  how  un 
mercifully  she  would  tease  Maude  should  this  prove  to 
be  any  of  her  relations. 

"  And  who  be  you  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  feeling  a 
little  piqued  at  the  coldness  of  her  reception. 

"  I  am  Miss  Helen — Dr.  Kennedy's  daughter," 
answered  the  young  lady,  assuming  an  air  of  dignity, 
which  was  not  at  all  diminished  by  the  very  expressive 
"  Mortal ! "  which  dropped  from  the  woman's  lips. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? "  asked  Nellie,  and 
the  stranger  answered  :  "  Yes,  go  and  call  Maude,  but 
don't  tell  her  who  I  am." 

She  forgot  that  Nellie  did  not  herself  know  who  she 
was,  and  sitting  down  upon  her  trunk,  she  waited  while 
Nellie  hurried  to  the  kitchen,  where,  over  a  smoky  fire 
Maude  was  trying  in  vain  to  make  a  bit  of  nicely 
browned  toast  for  her  mother,  who  had  expressed  a 
wish  for  something  good  to  eat. 

"  Here,  Maude,"  called  out  Nellie,  "  your  grand 
mother  or  aunt  has  come,  I  guess,  and  wants  to  see  you 
in  the  hall." 

"  It's  Janet, — it's  Janet,  I  know,"  screamed  Maude, 
and  leaving  her  slice  of  bread  to  burn  and  blacken 
before  the  fire,  she  hurried  away,  while  Nellie  who  had 
heard  nothing  of  the  letter  sent  the  week  before, 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  49 

wondered  much  who  the  "  witched  old  thing  with  the 
poking-  black  bonnet  could  be." 

With  a  cry  of  delight,  Maude  wound  her  arms  around 
the  neck  of  her  old  nurse,  whom  she  knew  in  a  moment, 
though  Janet  had  more  difficulty  in  recognizing  the 
little  girl  of  other  years,  in  the  womanly  looking  maiden 
before  her. 

"  It  beats  all  how  you've  changed,"  she  said,  "  though 
your  eyes  and  hair  are  the  same,"  and  she  passed  her 
hand  caressingly  over  the  short  glossy  curls.  Then, 
looking  intently  in  Maude's  face  she  continued. 
"  You've  grown  handsome,  child." 

"  No,  no,  not  handsome,  Janet ;  Nellie  is  the  beauty 
of  the  house  ;  "  and  Maude  shook  her  head  mournfully, 
for  on  the  subject  of  beauty,  she  was  a  little  sensitive, 
her  sister  always  pronouncing  her  "a  fright,"  and 
manifesting  a  most  unamiable  spirit  if  any  one  com 
plimented  her  in  the  least. 

"  "What,  that  yaller-haired,  whited  face  chit,  who  went 
for  you  ?  "  rejoined  Janet.  "  No  such  thing ;  but  tell 
me  now  of  your  marm.  How  sick  is  she,  and  what  of 
the  little  boy  ?  Is  he  much  deformed  ?  " 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  Maude,  leading  the  way  into 
the  parlor,  and  drawing  a  chair  close  to  Janet,  she  told 
all  she  deemed  it  necessary  to  tell. 

But  the  quick-witted  Janet  knew  there  was  something 
more,  and  casting  a  scornful  glance  around  the  room, 
she  said  :  "  You  are  a  good  girl,  Maude  ;  but  you  can't 
deceive  an  old  girl  like  me.  I  knew,  by  the  tremblin' 
way  you  writ'  that  somethin'  was  wrong,  and  started 
the  first  blessed  morning  after  gettin'  your  letter.  I 
was  calculating  to  come  pretty  soon,  anyway,  and  had 
all  my  arrangements  made.  So  I  can  stay  a  good  long 
spell — always,  mebby — for  I'm  a  widder  now,"  and  she 


50  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

heaved  a  few  sighs  to  the  memory  of  Mr.  Joel  Blodgett, 
who,  she  said,  "  had  been  dead  a  year,"  adding,  in  a 
whisper,  "  but  there's  one  consolation — he  willed  me 
all  his  property,"  and  she  drew  from  her  belt  a  huge 
silver  time-piece,  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  con 
sulting  quite  often,  by  way  of  showing  that  "  she  could 
carry  a  watch  as  well  as  the  next  one." 

After  a  little  her  mind  came  back  from  her  lamented 
husband,  and  she  gave  Maude  a  most  minute  account 
of  her  tedious  ride  in  a  lumber- wagon  from  Canadaigua 
to  Laurel  Hill,  for  the  stage  had  left  when  she  reached 
the  depot,  and  she  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  remain 
at  the  hotel  until  the  next  morning. 

"  But  what  of  that  doctor — do  you  like  him  ?  "  she 
said  at  last,  and  Maude  answered  :  "  Never  mind  him 
now ;  let  us  see  mother  first,  or  rather  let  me  see  to  her 
dinner,"  and  she  arose  to  leave  the  room. 

"  You  don't  like  him,"  continued  Janet,  "and  I  knew 
you  wouldn't ;  but  your  poor  mother,  I  pity  her.  Didn't 
you  say  you  was  gettin'  her  something  to  eat  ?  She's 
had  a  good  time  waitin',  but  I'll  make  amends  by  seein' 
to  her  dinner,  myself,"  and  spite  of  Maude's  endeavors 
to  keep  her  back,  she  followed  on  into  the  disorderly 
kitchen,  from  which  Nellie  had  disappeared,  and  where 
old  Hannah  sat  smoking  her  pipe  as  leisurely  as  if  on 
the  table  there  were  not  piles  of  unwashed  dishes,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  unswept  floor  and  dirty  hearth. 

"  What  a  hole  !  "  was  Janet's  involuntary  exclama 
tion,  to  which  Hannah  responded  a  most  contemptuous 
"  umph,"  and  thus  was  the  war-cry  raised  on  either 
side.  "  What  was  you  goin'  to  git  for  your  mother  \  " 
asked  Janet,  without  deigning  to  notice  the  portly 
African,  who  smoked  on  in  dignified  silence. 

"  Toast  and  tea,"  answered  Maude,  and  casting  a 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  51 

deprecating  glance  at  the  fire,  Janet  continued:  "You 
can't  make  any  toast  fit  for  a  heathen  to  eat  by  that 
fire.  Ain't  there  any  dry  wood — kindlin'  nor  nothin'  ? " 
and  she  walked  into  the  woodshed,  where,  spying  a 
pine  board,  she  seized  the  ax,  and  was  about  to  com 
mence  operations,  when  Hannah  called  out :  "  Ole 
Marster'll  be  in  yer  bar,  if  you  tache  that." 

"  I  ain't  afraid  of  your  old  marster,"  answered  Janet, 
and  in  a  moment  the  board,  which  Dr.  Kennedy  would 
not  suffer  John  to  use,  because  he  might  want  it  for 
something,  was  crackling  on  the  fire. 

The  hearth  was  swept,  the  tea-kettle  hung  in  the 
blaze,  and  then,  with  a  look  of  perfect  delight,  Janet  sat 
down  to  make  the  toast,  fixing  it  just  as  she  knew 
Matty  liked  it  best. 

"  Biled  eggs  will  be  good  for  her  digester,  and  if  I 
only  had  one  dropped  in  water,"  she  said,  and  quick  as 
thought  Maude  brought  her  one,  while  Hannah  growled 
again,  "  Ole  master'll  raise  de  ruff,  case  he  put  'em 
away  to  sell." 

"  Ole  marster  be  hanged  !  "  muttered  Janet,  breaking 
not  one  but  three  into  the  water,  for  her  own  stomach 
began  to  clamor  for  food. 

Everything  was  ready  at  last ;  a  clean  towel  cov 
ered  the  server,  the  fragrant  black  tea  was  made,  the 
boiled  egg  was  laid  upon  the  toast,  and  then  Janet 
said,  "  She  ought  to  have  a  relish — preserves,  jelly, 
baked-apple,  or  somethin',"  and  she  opened  a  cupboard 
door,  while  Hannah,  springing  to  her  feet,  exclaimed, 
"  Quit  dat ;  thar  ain't  no  sich  truck  in  dis  house." 

But  Janet's  sharp  eye  had  discovered  behind  a  pile 
of  papers,  rags,  and  dried  herbs,  a  tumbler  of  currant 
jelly,  which  Hannah  had  secretly  made  and  hidden 
away  for  her  own  private  eating.  Hannah's  first  im- 


52  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

pulse  was  to  snatch  the  jelly  from  Janet's  hand,  but 
feeling  intuitively  that  in  the  resolute  Scotchwoman 
she  had  a  mistress,  and  fearing  lest  Maude  should  be 
tray  her  to  the  doctor,  she  exclaimed,  "  If  that  ain't  the 
very  stuff  Miss  Ruggles  sent  in  for  Miss  Matty  !  I  for 
got  it  till  this  blessed  minit ! "  and  shutting  the  cup 
board  door,  she  stood  with  her  back  against  it  lest  Janet 
should  discover  sundry  other  delicacies  hidden  away 
for  a  like  purpose. 

"  Mother  has  not  had  a  feast  like  this — and  she'll  en 
joy  it  so  much,"  said  Maude,  as  she  started  up  the 
stairs  followed  by  Janet,  who,  ere  they  reached  the 
chamber,  suddenly  stopped,  saying,  "  I  tell  you  what 
'tis,  if  she  knows  I'm  here  she  won't  eat  a  mou'ful,  so 
you  say  nothin',  and  when  she's  through  I'll  come." 

This  seemed  reasonable  to  Maude,  who,  leaving  Janet 
to  look  through  a  crevice  in  the  door,  entered  alone 
into  her  mother's  presence.  Mrs.  Kennedy  had  waited 
long  for  Maude,  and  at  last,  weary  with  listening  to 
the  rain,  which  made  her  feel  so  desolate  and  sad,  she 
fell  asleep,  as  little  Louis  at  her  side  had  done  before 
her  ;  but  Maude's  cheering  voice  awoke  her. 

"  Look,  mother,"  she  cried,  "  see  the  nice  dinner ! " 
and  her  own  eyes  fairly  danced  as  she  placed  the  tray 
upon  the  table  before  her  mother,  who,  scarcely  less 
pleased,  exclaimed,  "  A  boiled  egg — and  jelly,  too  ! — 
I've  wanted  them  both  so  much.  How  did  it  hap 
pen?" 

"  Eat  first,  and  then  I'll  tell  you,"  answered  Maude, 
propping  her  up  with  pillows,  and  setting  the  server  in 
her  lap. 

"It  tastes  like  old  times— like  Janet,"  said  the 
invalid,  and  from  the  room  without,  where  Janet 
watched,  there  came  a  faint,  choking  sound,  which 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  53 

Matty  thought  was  the  wind,  and  which  Maude  knew 
was  Janet. 

Through  the  door  she  had  caught  sight  of  her  mis 
tress,  whose  white,  wasted  face  wrung  from  her  that 
cry.  Stuffing  her  handkerchief  into  her  mouth,  she 
waited  until  toast,  tea,  egg,  and  all  had  disappeared, 
then,  with  the  exclamation,  "  She's  et  'em  all  up  slick 
and  clean,"  she  walked  into  the  room. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  that  meeting, 
when  the  poor  sick  woman  bowed  her  weary  head 
upon  the  motherly  bosom  of  her  faithful  domestic, 
weeping  most  piteously  while  Janet  folded  her  lov 
ingly  in  her  arms,  saying  to  her  soothingly,  "  Nay, 
now,  Matty  darling — nay,  my  bonnie  bird — take  it  easy 
like — take  it  easy,  and  you'll  feel  all  the  better." 

"  You  won't  leave  me,  will  you  ? "  sobbed  Matty, 
feeling  that  it  would  not  be  hard  to  die  with  Janet 
standing  near. 

"  No,  honey,  no,"  answered  Janet,  "  I'll  stay  till  one 
or  t'other  of  us  is  carried  down  the  walk  and  across  the 
common,  where  them  gravestones  is  standin',  which  I 
noticed  when  I  drove  up." 

"  It  will  be  me,  Janet.  It  will  be  me,"  said  Matty. 
"  They  will  bury  me  beneath  the  willows,  for  the  other 
one  is  lying  there,  oh,  so  peacefully." 

Louis  was  by  this  time  awake,  and  taking  him  upon 
her  lap,  Janet  laughed  and  cried  alternately,  mentally 
resolving  that  so  long  as  she  should  live,  she  would 
befriend  the  little  helpless  boy,  whose  face,  she  said, 
"  was  far  winsomer  than  any  she  had  ever  seen." 

Then  followed  many  mutual  inquiries,  during  which 
Matty  learned  that  Janet  was  a  widow,  and  had  really 
come  to  stay  if  necessary. 

"  I'm  able  now  to  live  as  I  please,  for  I've  got  prop- 


54  COUSIN  MATJDE. 

erty,"  said  Janet,  again  consulting  the  silver  watch,  as 
she  usually  did  when  speaking  of  her  husband's  will. 

Many  questions,  too,  did  Matty  ask  concerning  her 
former  home — her  friends — her  flowers — and  Harry's 
grave  ;  '*  was  it  well  kept  now,  or  was  it  overrun  with 
weeds  ? " 

To  this  last  question  Janet  did  not  reply  directly,  but 
making  some  excuse  for  leaving  the  room,  she  soon  re 
turned,  bearing  in  one  hand  a  box  in  which  a  small 
rosebush  was  growing.  In  the  other  hand  she  held 
a  beautiful  bouquet,  which,  having  been  kept  moist, 
looked  almost  as  fresh  as  when  it  was  first  gathered. 
This  she  gave  to  Matty,  saying,  "  They  grew  on  Harry's 
grave.  I  picked  'em  myself  yesterday  morning  before 
I  left ;  and  this,"  pointing  to  the  rosebush,  "  is  a  root 
I  took  from  there  last  spring  on  purpose  for  you,  for  I 
meant  to  visit  you  this  fall." 

Need  we  say  those  flowers  were  dearer  to  Matty 
than  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  would  have  been  !  They 
had  blossomed  on  Harry's  grave — his  dust  had  added 
to  them  life,  and  as  if  they  were  indeed  a  part  of  him, 
she  hugged  them  to  her  heart — kissing  them  through 
her  tears  and  blessing  Janet  for  the  priceless  gift. 

"  Don't  tell  him,  though,"  she  whispered,  and  a  deep 
flush  mounted  to  her  cheek,  as  on  the  stairs  she  heard 
a  heavy  footstep,  and  knew  that  Dr.  Kennedy  was 
coming. 

He  had  been  in  the  kitchen,  demanding  of  Hannah, 
"  Whose  is  all  that  baggage  in  the  hall  ?  "  and  Hannah, 
glad  of  an  opportunity  to  "  free  her  mind,"  had  an 
swered,  "  Some  low  lived-truck  or  other  that  they  called 
1  Janet,'  and  a  body'd  s'pose  she  owned  the  house,  the 
way  she  went  on,  splittin'  up  yer  board  for  kindlin', 
makin'  Missus'  toast  swim  in  butter,  and  a  bilin'  three 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  55 

of  them  eggs  you  laid  away  to  sell.  If  she  stays  here, 
this  nigger  won't — that's  my  'pinion,"  and  feeling 
greatly  injured  she  left  the  kitchen,  while  Dr.  Kennedy, 
•with  a  dark,  moody  look  upon  his  face,  started  for  the 
sick  room. 

He  knew  very  well  who  his  visitor  was,  and  when 
his  wife  said,  "  Husband,  this  is  my  faithful  Janet, 
or  rather  Mrs.  Blodgett  now.  Wasn't  it  kind  in  her  to 
come  so  far  to  see  me  ? "  he  merely  nodded  coolly  to 
Mrs.  Blodgett,  who  nodded  as  coolly  in  return,  then 
turning  to  his  wife,  he  said,  "  You  seem  excited,  my 
dear,  and  this  ought  not  to  be.  'Tis  a  maxim  of  mine 
that  company  is  injurious  to  sick  people.  What  do  you 
think,  Mrs.  Blodgett  3  " 

Mrs.  Blodgett  didn't  think  anything  save  that  he 
was  a  most  disagreeable  man,  and  as  she  could  not  say 
this  in  his  presence,  she  made  no  particular  answer. 
Glancing  toward  the  empty  plate  which  stood  upon 
the  table,  he  continued,  "  Hannah  tells  me,  ray  dear, 
that  you  have  eaten  three  boiled  eggs.  I  wonder  at 
your  want  of  discretion,  when  you  know  how  indi 
gestible  they  are,"  and  his  eye  rested  reprovingly  on 
Janet,  who  now  found  her  tongue,  and  starting  up, 
exclaimed,  "  One  biled  egg  won't  hurt  anybody's 
digester,  if  it's  ever  so  much  out  of  kilter — but  the 
jade  lied.  Two  of  them  eggs  I  cooked  for  myself,  and 
I'll  warrant  she's  guzzled  'em  down  before  this.  Any 
way,  I'll  go  and  see,"  and  she  arose  to  leave  the  room. 

Just  as  she  reached  the  door,  the  doctor  called  after 
her,  saying,  "  Mrs.  Blodgett,  I  observed  a  trunk  or  two 
in  the  lower  hall,  which  I  presume  are  yours.  Will 
you  have  them  left  there,  or  shall  I  bring  them  up  to 
your  chamber  ?  You  will  stay  all  night  with  us,  of 
course ! " 


56  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

For  an  instant  Janet's  face  was  crimson,  but  forcing 
clown  her  wrath  for  Matty's  sake,  she  answered,  "  I 
shall  probably  stay  as  long  as  that,"  and  slamming 
together  the  door  she  went  down-stairs,  while  Matty 
said,  sadly,  "  Oh,  husband,  how  could  you  thus  insult 
her  when  you  knew  she  had  come  to  stay  awhile  at 
least,  and  that  her  presence  would  do  me  so  much  good  ? " 

"  How  should  I  know  she  had  come  to  stay,  when 
I've  heard  nothing  about  it,"  was  the  doctor's  reply  ; 
and  then  in  no  mild  terms  he  gave  his  opinion  of  the 
lady — said  opinion  being  based  on  what  old  Hannah 
had  told  him. 

There  were  tears  in  Matty's  eyes,  and  they  dropped 
from  her  long  eyelashes,  as,  taking  the  doctor's  hand, 
she  said  :  "  Husband,  you  know  that  I'm  going  to  die 
— that  ere  the  snow  is  falling  you  will  be  a  second 
time  alone.  And  you  surely  will  not  refuse  me  when 
I  ask  that  Janet  shall  stay  until  the  last.  "When  I  am 
gone  you  will,  perhaps,  be  happier  in  the  remembrance 
that  you  granted  me  one  request." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  far 
more  convincing  than  her  words,  and  when  she  added, 
"  She  does  not  expect  wages,  for  she  has  money  of  her 
own,"  Dr.  Kennedy  yielded  the  point,  prophesying  the 
while  that  there  would  be  trouble  with  Hannah. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Blodgett  had  wended  her  way  to 
the  kitchen,  meeting  in  the  way  with  Nellie,  around 
whose  mouth  there  was  a  substance  greatly  resem 
bling  the  yolk  of  an  egg  !  Thus  prepared  for  the  worst, 
Janet  was  not  greatly  disappointed  when  she  found 
that  her  eggs  had  been  disposed  of  by  both  the  young 
lady  and  Hannah,  the  latter  of  whom  was  too  busy 
with  her  dishes  to  turn  her  head,  or  in  any  way  ac 
knowledge  the  presence  of  a  second  person. 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  57 

"Joel  Blodgett's  widow  ought  to  be  above  havin' 
words  writh  a  nigger,"  was  Janet's  mental  comment 
as  she  contented  herself  with  a  slice  of  bread  and  a 
cup  of  tea,  which,  by  this  time,  was  of  quite  a  reddish 
hue. 

Her  hunger  being  satisfied,  she  began  to  feel  more 
amiably  disposed  toward  the  old  negress,  whose  dishes 
she  offered  to  wipe.  This  kindness  was  duly  appre 
ciated  by  Hannah,  and  that  night,  in  speaking  of  Janet 
to  her  son,  she  pronounced  her  "  not  quite  so  onery  a 
white  woman  as  she  at  first  took  her  to  be." 

As  the  days  wore  on,  Janet's  presence  in  the  family 
was  felt  in  various  ways.  To  Matty,  it  brought  a 
greater  degree  of  happiness  than  she  had  experienced 
since  she  left  her  New  England  home,  while  even 
the  doctor  acknowledged  an  increased  degree  of  com 
fort  in  his  household,  though  not  willing  at  first  to  at 
tribute  it  to  its  proper  source.  He  did  not  like  Janet ; 
her  ideas  were  too  extravagant  for  him,  and  on  several 
different  occasions  he  hinted  quite  strongly  that  she 
was  not  wanted  there  ;  but  Janet  was  perfectly  invin 
cible  to  hints,  and  when,  at  one  time,  he  embodied 
them  in  language  that  could  not  be  misunderstood, 
telling  her,  "  'twas  a  maxim  of  his,  that  if  a  person  had 
a  home  of  their  own  they  had  better  stay  there  ;  "  she 
promptly  replied,  that  "  'twas  a  maxim  of  hers  to  stay 
where  she  pleased,  particularly  as  she  was  a  woman 
of  property,"  and  so,  as  she  pleased  to  stay  there,  she 
stayed ! 

It  took  but  a  short  time  for  her  to  understand  the 
doctor,  and  to  say  that  she  disliked  him  would  but 
feebly  express  the  feeling  of  aversion  with  which  she 
regarded  him.  Not  a  word,  however,  would  Matty 
admit,  of  past  or  present  unkindness — neither  was  it 


58  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

necessary  that  she  should,  for  Janet  saw  it  all — saw 
how  "  old  maxim,"  as  she  called  him,  had  worried  her 
life  away,  and  while  cherishing  for  him  a  sentiment  of 
hatred,  she  strove  to  comfort  her  young  mistress,  who 
grew  weaker  and  weaker  every  day,  until  at  last  the 
husband  himself,  aroused  to  a  sense  of  her  danger, 
strove  by  little  acts  of  kindness  unusual  in  him  to  make 
amends  for  years  of  wrong.  Experience  is  a  thorough 
teacher,  and  he  shrunk  from  the  bitter  memories  which 
spring  from  the  grave  of  a  neglected  wife,  and  he  would 
rather  that  Matty,  when  she  died,  should  not  turn  away 
from  him,  shuddering  at  his  touch,  and  asking  him  to 
take  his  hand  from  off  her  brow,  just  as  one  brown- 
haired  woman  had  done.  This  feeling  of  his  was  ap 
preciated  by  Janet,  who  in  proportion  as  he  became 
tender  toward  Matty,  was  respectful  to  him,  until  at 
last  there  came  to  be  a  tolerably  good  understanding 
between  them,  and  she  was  suffered,  in  most  matters, 
to  have  her  own  way. 

With  John  she  was  a  special  favorite,  and  through 
his  instrumentality  open  hostilities  were  prevented 
between  herself  and  his  mother,  until  the  latter  missed 
another  cup  of  jelly  from  its  new  hiding-place.  Then, 
indeed,  the  indignant  African  announced  her  intention 
of  going  at  once  to  "  Miss  Ruggles's,"  who  had  offered 
her  "  twelve  shillings  a  week,  and  a  heap  of  leisure." 

"  Let  her  go,"  said  John,  who  knew  Mrs.  Kuggles  to 
be  a  fashionble  woman,  the  mother  of  nine  children 
whose  ages  varied  from  one  to  fifteen  ;  "  let  her  go — 
she'll  be  glad  to  come  back,"  and  the  sequel  proved  he 
was  right,  for  just  as  it  was  beginning  to  grow  light 
on  the  second  day  of  her  absence,  some  one  rapped  at 
his  window,  and  a  half-crying  voice  whispered,  "  Let 
me  in,  John  ;  I've  been  out  to  sarvice  enough." 


MRS.  JANET  BLODGETT.  59 

John  complied  with  the  request,  and  when  Janet 
came  down  to  the  kitchen,  how  was  she  surprised  at 
finding  Hannah  there,  leisurely  grinding  her  coffee, 
with  an  innocent  look  upon  her  sable  face  as  if  nothing 
had  ever  happened.  John's  raillery,  however,  loosened 
her  tongue  at  last,  and  very  minutely  she  detailed  her 
grievances.  "  She  had  done  a  two  weeks'  washing, 
besides  all  the  work,  and  the  whole  of  them  young 
ones  under  her  feet  into  the  bargain.  Then  at  night, 
when  she  hoped  for  a  little  rest,  Mrs.  Buggies  had  gone 
off  to  a  party  and  stayed  till  midnight,  leaving  her  with 
that  squallin'  brat ;  but  never  you  mind,"  said  she,  "  I 
poured  a  little  paregol  down  its  throat,  or  my  name 
ain't  Hannah,"  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  at  her  escape 
from  "  Miss  Ruggles,"  she  finished  her  story  and  re 
sumed  her  accustomed  duties,  which  for  many  weeks 
she  faithfully  performed,  finding  but  little  fault  with 
the  frequent  suggestions  of  Mrs.  Janet  Blodgett,  whose 
rule  in  the  household  was  for  the  time  being  firmly 
established. 


60  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    MOTHER. 

FROM  the  tall  trees  which  shade  the  desolate  old 
house  the  leaves  have  fallen  one  by  one,  and  the 
November  rain  makes  mournful  music,  as  in  the  still 
ness  of  the  night  it  drops  upon  the  withered  foliage, 
softly,  slowly,  as  if  weeping  for  the  sorrow  which  has 
come  upon  the  household.  Matty  Kennedy  is  dead  ; 
and  in  the  husband's  heart  there  is  a  gnawing  pain, 
such  as  he  never  felt  before ;  not  even  when  Katy 
died  ;  for  Katy,  though  pure  and  good,  was  not  so 
wholly  unselfish  as  Matty  had  been,  and  in  thinking 
of  her,  he  could  occasionally  recall  an  impatient  word ; 
but  from  Matty,  none.  Gentle,  loving  and  beautiful, 
she  had  been  to  him  in  life,  and  now,  beautiful  in 
death,  she  lay  in  the  silent  parlor,  on  the  marble  table 
she  had  brought  from  home,  while  he, — oh,  who  shall 
tell  what  thoughts  were  busy  at  his  heart,  as  he  sat 
there  alone,  that  dismal,  rainy  night. 

In  one  respect  his  wishes  had  been  gratified  ;  Matty 
had  not  turned  from  him  in  death.  She  had  died 
within  his  arms ;  but  so  long  as  the  light  of  reason 
shone  in  her  blue  eyes, — so  long  had  they  rested  on  the 
rosebush  within  the  window, — the  rosebush  brought 
from  Harry's  grave.  Nestled  among  its  leaves  was  a 
half-opened  bud,  and  when  none  could  hear,  she 
whispered  softly  to  Janet,  "  Place  it  in  my  bosom  just 


THE  MOTHER.  61 

as  you  placed  one,  years  ago,  when  I  was  Harry's 
bride." 

To  Nellie  and  to  Maude  she  had  spoken  blessed 
words  of  comfort,  commending  to  the  latter  as  to  a 
second  mother  the  little  Louis,  who,  trembling  with 
fear,  had  hidden  beneath  the  bedclothes,  so  that  he 
could  not  see  the  white  look  upon  her  face.  Then  to 
her  husband  she  had  turned,  pleading  with  all  a 
mother's  tenderness  for  her  youngest  born — her  un 
fortunate  one. 

"Oh,  husband,"  she  said,  "you  will  care  for  him 
when  I  am  gone.  You  will  love  my  poor,  crippled 
boy  !  Promise  me  this,  and  death  will  not  be  hard  to 
meet.  Promise  me,  won't  you !  "  and  the  voice  \vas 
very,  very  faint. 

He  could  not  refuse,  and  bending  lo\v,  he  said, 
"  Matty,  I  will,  I  will." 

"  Bless  you,  my  husband,  bless  you  for  that,"  were 
Matty's  dying  words,  for  she  never  spoke  again. 

It  was  morning  then, — early  morning,  and  a  long, 
dreary  day  had  intervened,  until  at  last  it  was  mid 
night,  and  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house. 
Maude,  Nellie,  Janet  and  John,  had  wept  themselves 
sick,  while  in  little  Louis's  bosom  there  was  a  sense  of 
desolation  which  kept  him  wakeful,  even  after  Maude 
had  cried  herself  to  sleep.  Many  a  time  that  day  had 
he  stolen  into  the  parlor,  and  climbing  into  a  chair,  as 
best  he  could,  had  laid  his  baby  cheek  against  the  cold, 
white  face,  and  smoothing  with  his  dimpled  hand,  the 
shining  hair,  had  whispered,  "  Poor,  sick  mother,  won't 
you  speak  to  Louis  any  more  ?  " 

He  knew  better  than  most  children  of  his  age  what 
was  meant  by  death,  and  as  he  lay  awake,  thinking 
how  dreadful  it  was  to  have  no  mother,  his  thoughts 


62  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

turned  toward  his  father,  who  had  that  day  been  too 
much  absorbed  in  own  grief  to  notice  him. 

"  Maybe  he'll  love  me  some  now  ma  is  dead,"  he 
thought,  and  with  that  yearning  for  paternal  sympathy 
natural  to  the  motherless,  he  crept  out  of  bed,  and 
groping  his  way  with  his  noiseless  crutches  to  his 
father's  door,  he  knocked  softly  for  admittance. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  Dr.  Kennedy,  every 
nerve  thrilling  to  the  answer. 

"  It's  me,  father  ;  won't  you  let  me  in,  for  it's  dark 
out  here,  and  lonesome,  with  her  lying  in  the  parlor. 
Oh,  father,  won't  you  love  me  a  little,  now  mother's 
dead  ?  I  can't  help  it  because  I'm  lame,  and,  when 
I'm  a  man,  I  will  earn  my  own  living.  I  won't  be  in 
the  way.  Say,  pa,  will  you  love  me  \  " 

He  remembered  the  charges  his  father  had  preferred 
against  him,  and  the  father  remembered  them  too. 
She  to  whom  the  cruel  words  were  spoken  was  gone 
from  him  now  and  her  child,  their  child  was  at  the 
door,  pleading  for  his  love.  Could  he  refuse  ?  No,  by 
every  kindly  feeling,  by  every  parental  tie,  we  answer 
no,  he  could  not,  and  opening  the  door  he  took  the 
little  fellow  in  his  arms,  hugging  him  to.  his  bosom, 
while  tears,  the  first  he  had  shed  for  many  a  year,  fell 
like  rain  upon  the  face  of  his  crippled  boy.  Like  some 
mighty  water,  which  breaking  through  its  prison  walls, 
seeks  again  its  natural  channel,  so  did  his  love  go  out 
toward  the  child  so  long  neglected,  the  child  who  was 
not  now  to  him  a  cripple.  He  did  not  think  of  the 
deformity,  he  did  not  even  see  it.  He  saw  only  the 
beautiful  face,  the  soft  brown  eyes,  and  silken  hair  of 
the  little  one,  who  ere  long  fell  asleep,  murmuring  in 
his  dreams,  "  He  loves  me,  ma,  he  does." 

Surely  the  father  cannot  be  blamed,  if  when  he  looked 


THE  MOTHER.  63 

again  upon  the  calm  face  of  the  dead,  he  fancied  that 
it  wore  a  happier  look,  as  if  the  whispered  words  of 
Louis  had  reached  her  unconscious  ear.  Yery  beauti 
ful  looked  Matty  in  her  coffin — for  thirty  years  had 
but  slightly  marred  her  youthful  face — and  the 
doctor,  as  he  gazed  upon  her,  thought  within  himself, 
"  shewas  almost  as  fair  as  Maude  Glendower." 

Then,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  rosebud  which  Janet 
had  laid  upon  her  bosom,  he  said,  "'T  was  kind  in  Mrs. 
Blodgett  to  place  it  there,  for  Matty  was  fond  of 
flowers  ;  "  but  he  did  not  dream  how  closely  was  that 
rosebud  connected  with  a  grave  made  many  years 
before. 

Thoughts  of  Maude  Glendower  and  mementos  of 
Harry  Remington  meeting  together  at  Matty's  coffin  ! 
Alas,  that  such  should  be  our  life  ! 

Underneath  the  willows,  and  by  the  side  of  Katy,  was 
Matty  laid  to  rest,  and  then  the  desolate  old  house 
seemed  doubly  desolate — Maude  mourning  truly  for 
her  mother,  while  the  impulsive  Nellie,  too,  wept  bit 
terly,  for  one  whom  she  had  really  loved.  To  the  doc 
tor,  however,  a  new  feeling  had  been  born,  and  in  the 
society  of  his  son  he  found  a  balm  for  his  sorrow,  be 
coming  ere  long,  to  all  outward  appearance,  the  same 
exacting,  overbearing  man  he  had  been  before.  The 
blows  are  hard  and  oft  repeated  which  break  the  solid 
rock,  and  there  will  come  a  time  when  that  selfish 
nature  shall  be  subdued  and  broken  down  ;  but  'tis  not 
yet — not  yet. 

And  now,  leaving  him  a  while  to  himself,  we  will 
pass  on  to  a  period  when  Maude  herself  shall  become 
in  reality  the  heroine  of  our  story. 


64  COUSIN  MAUDE 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PAST  AND  PRESENT. 

FOTJE  years  and  a  half  have  passed  away  since  the 
dark  November  night  when  Matty  Kennedy  died,  and 
in  her  home  all  things  are  not  as  they  were  then.  Janet, 
the  presiding  genius  of  the  household,  is  gone — mar 
ried  a  second  time,  and  by  this  means  escaped,  as  she 
verily  believes,  the  embarrassment  of  refusing  outright 
to  be  Mrs.  Dr.  Kennedy,  No.  3  !  Not  that  Dr.  Kennedy 
ever  entertained  the  slightest  idea  of  making  her  his 
wife,  but  knowing  how  highly  he  valued  money,  and 
being  herself  "  a  woman  of  property,"  Janet  came  at 
last  to  fancy  that  he  had  serious  thoughts  of  offering 
himself  to  her.  He,  on  the  contrary,  was  only  intent 
upon  the  best  means  of  removing  her  from  his  house, 
for,  though  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  comfort  which 
her  presence  brought,  it  was  a  comfort  for  which  he 
paid  too  dearly.  Still  he  endured  it  for  nearly  three 
years,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  determined  that 
she  should  go  away,  and  as  he  dreaded  a  scene,  he  did 
not  tell  her  plainly  what  he  meant,  but  hinted,  and  with 
each  hint  the  widow  groaned  afresh  over  her  lamented 
Joel. 

At  last,  emboldened  by  some  fresh  extravagance,  he 
said  to  her  one  day  :  "  Mrs.  Blodgett,  ah — ahem,"  here 
he  stopped, while  Mrs.  Blodgett,  thinking  her  time  had 
come,  drew  out  Joel's  picture,  which  latterly  she 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  65 

carried  in  her  pocket,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  any  emer 
gency. 

"  Mrs.  Blodgett,  are  you  paying  attention  ?  "  asked 
the  doctor,  observing  how  intently  she  was  regarding 
the  picture  of  the  deceased. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  answered,  and  he  continued  :  "  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,  but  I've  been 
thinking  for  some  time  past " 

"I  know  you've  been  thinking,"  interrupted  the 
widow, "  but  it  won't  do  an  atom  of  good,  for  my  mind 
was  made  up  long  ago,  and  I  shan't  do  it,  and  if  you've 
any  kind  of  feelings  for  Matt}7,  which  you  hain't,  nor 
never  had,  you  wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,  and  I 
know,  as  well  as  I  want  to  know,  that  it's  my  property, 
and  nothin'  else,  which  has  put  such  an  idee  into  your 
head!" 

Here,  overcome  with  her  burst  of  indignation,  she 
began  to  cry,  while  the  doctor,  wholly  misunderstand 
ing  her,  attempted  to  smooth  the  matter  somewhat  by 
saying :  "  I  had  no  intention  of  distressing  you,  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  but  I  thought  I  might  as  well  free  my  mind. 
"Were  you  a  poor  woman,  I  should  feel  differently,  but 
knowing  you  have  money " 

"  "Wretch !  "  fairly  screamed  the  insulted  Janet.  "  So 
you  confess  my  property  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,  but  I'll 
fix  it.  I'll  put  an  end  to  it,"  and  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement  she  rushed  from  the  room. 

Just  across  the  way,  a  newly-fledged  lawyer  had 
hung  out  his  sign,  and  thither,  that  very  afternoon,  the 
wrathful  widow  wended  her  way,  nor  left  the  dingy 
office  until  one-half  of  her  property,  which  was  far 
greater  than  any  one  supposed  it  to  be,  was  transferred 
by  deed  of  gift  to  Maude  Remington,  who  was  to  come 
in  possession  of  it  on  her  eighteenth  birthday,  and 


66  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

was  to  inherit  the  remainder  by  will  at  the  death  of 
the  donor. 

"  That  fixes  him,"  she  muttered,  as  she  returned  to 
the  house,  "  that  fixes  old  maxim  good  ;  to  think  of  his 
insultin'  me,  by  ownin'  right  up  that  'twas  my property 
lie  was  after,  the  rascal !  I  wouldn't  have  him  if  there 
warn't  another  man  in  the  world  !  "  and  entering  the 
room  where  Maude  was  sewing,  she  astonished  the 
young  girl  by  telling  her  what  she  had  done.  "  I  have 
made  you  my  heir,"  said  she,  tossing  the  deed  of  gift 
and  the  will  into  Maude's  lap.  "  I've  made  you  my 
heir;  and  the  day  you're  eighteen  you'll  be  worth 
five  thousand  dollars,  besides  havin'  the  interest  to  use 
between  this  time  and  that.  Then,  if  I  ever  die,  you'll 
have  five  thousand  more.  Joel  Blodgett  didn't  keep 
thirty  cows  and  peddle  milk  for  nothin'." 

Maude  was  at  first  too  much  astonished  to  compre 
hend  the  meaning  of  what  she  heard,  but  she  understood 
it  at  last,  and  then,  with  many  tears,  thanked  the 
eccentric  woman  for  what  she  had  done,  and  asked  the 
reason  for  this  unexpected  generosity. 

"  'Cause  I  like  you  ! "  answered  Janet,  determined 
not  to  injure  Maude's  feelings  by  letting  her  know  how 
soon  her  mother  had  been  forgotten.  "  'Cause  I  like 
you,  and  always  meant  to  give  it  to  you.  But  don't 
tell  any  one  how  much  'tis,  for  if  the  old  fool  widowers 
round  here  know  I  am  still  worth  five  thousand  dollars, 
they'll  like  enough  be  botherin'  me  with  offers,  hopin' 
I'll  change  my  will,  but  1  shan't.  I'll  teach  'em  a  trick 
or  two,  the  good-for-nothin'  old  maxim." 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  made  as  Janet  was 
leaving  the  room,  consequently  Maude  did  not  hear  it, 
neither  would  she  have  understood  if  she  had.  She 
knew  her  nurse  was  very  peculiar,  but  she  never 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  67 

dreamed  it  possible  for  her  to  fancy  that  Dr.  Kennedy 
wished  to  make  her  his  wife,  and  she  was  greatly  puzzled 
to  know  why  she  had  been  so  generous  to  her.  But  Janet 
knew  ;  and  when  a  few  days  afterward.  Dr.  Kennedy, 
determining  upon  a  fresh  attempt  to  remove  her  from 
his  house,  came  to  her  side,  as  she  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  twilight,  she  felt  glad  that  one-half  her  property 
at  least  was  beyond  her  control. 

"  Mrs.  Blodgett,"  he  said,  clearing  his  throat,  and 
looking  considerably  embarrassed,  "Mrs.  Blodgett." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  of  Mrs.  Blodgett  ? "  was 
the  widow's  testy  answer,  and  the  doctor  replied,  "  I 
did  not  finish  what  I  wished  to  say  to  you  the  other 
day,  and  it's  a  maxim  of  mine,  if  a  person  has  any 
thing  on  his  mind,  he  had  better  tell  it  at  once." 

"  Certainly,  ease  yourself  off,  do,"  and  Janet's  little 
gray  eyes  twinkled  with  delight,  as  she  thought  how 
crestfallen  he  would  look  when  she  told  him  her  prop 
erty  was  gone. 

"  I  was  going,  Mrs.  Blodgett,"  he  continued,  "  I  was 
going  to  propose  to  you " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  the  widow  sprang 
to  her  feet,  exclaiming,  "  It's  of  no  kind  of  use !  I've 
gin  my  property  all  to  Maude ;  half  of  it  the  day  she's 
eighteen,  and  the  rest  on't  is  willed  to  her  when  I  die, 
so  you  may  as  well  let  me  alone,"  and  feeling  greatly 
flurried  with  what  she  verily  believed  to  have  been  an 
offer,  she  walked  away,  leaving  the  doctor  to  think 
her  the  most  inexplicable  woman  he  ever  saw. 

The  next  day  Janet  received  an  invitation  to  visit 
her  husband's  sister  who  lived  in  Canada.  The  invita 
tion  was  accepted,  and  to  his  great  delight,  the  doctor 
saw  her  drive  from  his  door,  just  one  week  after  his 
last  amusing  interview.  In  Canada,  Janet  formed  the 


68  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

acquaintance  of  a  man  full  ten  years  her  junior.  He 
had  been  a  distant  relative  of  her  husband,  and  know 
ing  of  her  property,  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  For 
several  days  Janet  studied  her  face  to  see  what  was  in 
it,  "  which  made  every  man  in  Christendom  want 
her !  "  and  concluding  at  last,  that  "  handsome  is  that 
handsome  does,"  said  "  Yes,"  and  made  Peter  Hop 
kins  the  happiest  of  men. 

There  was  a  bridal  trip  to  Laurel  Hill,  where  the 
new  husband  ascertained  that  the  half  of  that  for 
which  he  had  married  was  beyond  his  reach ;  but  be 
ing  naturally  of  a  hopeful  nature,  he  did  not  despair 
of  eventually  changing  the  will,  so  he  swallowed  his 
disappointment,  and  redoubled  his  attentions  to  his 
mother-wife,  now  Mrs.  Janet  Blodyett  Hopkins. 

Meantime,  the  story  that  Maude  was  an  heiress,  cir 
culated  rapidly,  and,  as  the  lawyer  kept  his  own  coun 
sel,  and  Maude,  in  accordance  with  Janet's  request, 
never  told  how  much  had  been  given  her,  the  amount 
was  doubled,  nay,  in  some  cases  trebled,  and  she  sud 
denly  found  herself  a  person  of  considerable  impor 
tance,  particularly  in  the  estimation  of  Dr.  Kennedy, 
who,  aside  from  setting  a  high  value  upon  money, 
fancied  he  saw  a  way  by  which  he  himself  could  reap 
some  benefit  from  his  stepdaughter's  fortune.  If 
Maude  had  money,  she  certainly  ought  to  pay  for  her 
board,  and  so  he  said  to  her  one  day,  prefacing  his 
remarks  with  his  stereotyped  phrase,  that  "  'twas  a 
maxim  of  his,  that  one  person  should  not  live  upon 
another  if  they  could  help  it." 

Since  Janet's  last  marriage,  Maude  had  taken  the 
entire  management  of  affairs,  and  without  her  there 
would  have  been  but  little  comfort  or  order  in  a  house 
hold  whose  only  servant  was  old  and  lazy,  and  whose 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  69 

eldest  daughter  was  far  too  proud  to  work.  This 
Maude  knew,  and  with  a  flush  of  indignation  upon  her 
cheek,  she  replied  to  her  stepfather :  "  Very  well,  sir, 
I  can  pay  for  my  board,  if  you  like ;  but  boarders,  you 
know,  never  trouble  themselves  with  the  affairs  of  the 
kitchen." 

The  doctor  was  confounded.  He  knew  he  could  not 
well  dispense  with  Maude's  services,  and  it  had  not  be 
fore  occurred  to  him  that  a  housekeeper  and  boarder 
were  two  different  persons. 

"  Ah — yes — just  so,"  said  he,  "  I  see  I'm  laboring 
under  a  mistake  ;  you  prefer  working  for  your  board — 
all  right,"  and  feeling  a  good  deal  more  disconcerted 
than  he  ever  supposed  it  possible  for  him  to  feel,  he 
gave  up  the  contest. 

Maude  was  at  this  time  nearly  sixteen  years  of  age, 
and  during  the  next  year  she  was  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  the  housekeeper,  discharging  faithfully  every 
duty  and  still  finding  time  to  pursue  her  own  studies 
and  superintend  the  education  of  little  Louis,  to  whom 
she  was  indeed  a  second  mother.  She  was  very  fond 
of  books,  and  while  Janet  was  with  them,  she  had  with 
Nellie  attended  the  seminary  at  Laurel  Hill,  where  she 
stood  high  in  all  her  classes,  for  learning  \vas  with  her 
a  delight,  and  when  at  last  it  seemed  necessary  for  her 
to  remain  at  home,  she  still  devoted  a  portion  of  each 
day  to  her  studies,  reciting  to  a  teacher  who  came  reg 
ularly  to  the  house,  and  whom  she  paid  with  her  own 
money.  By  this  means  she  was  at  the  age  of  seven 
teen  a  far  better  scholar  than  Nellie,  who  left  every 
care  to  her  stepsister,  saying  she  was  just  suited  to  the 
kitchen  work,  and  the  tiresome  old  books  with  which 
she  kept  her  chamber  littered.  This  chamber  to  which 
Nellie  referred,  was  Maude's  particular  province. 


70  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Here  she  reigned  joint  sovereign  with  Louis,  who  thus 
early  evinced  a  degree  of  intellectuality  wonderful  in 
one  so  young,  and  who  in  some  things  excelled  even 
Maude  herself. 

Drawing  and  painting  seemed  to  be  his  ruling  taste, 
and  as  Dr.  Kennedy  still  cherished  for  his  crippled  boy 
a  love  almost  idolatrous,  he  spared  neither  money  nor 
pains  to  procure  for  him  everything  necessary  for  his 
favorite  pursuit.  Almost  the  entire  day  did  Louis  pass 
in  what  he  termed  Maude's  library,  where,  poring  over 
books,  or  busy  with  his  pencil,  he  whiled  the  hours 
away  without  a  sigh  for  the  green  fields  and  shadowy 
woods,  through  which  he  could  never  hope  to  ramble. 
And  Maude  was  very  proud  of  her  artist  brother — 
proud  of  the  beautiful  boy  whose  face  seemed  not  to 
be  of  earth  so  calm,  so  angel-like  was  its  expression. 
All  the  softer,  gentler  virtues  of  the  mother,  and  all 
the  intellectual  qualities  of  the  father  were  blended  to 
gether  in  the  child,  who  presented  a  combination  of 
goodness,  talent,  beauty,  and  deformity,  such  as  is  sel 
dom  seen.  For  his  sister  Maude,  Louis  possessed  a 
deep,  undying  love,  which  neither  time  nor  misfortune 
could  in  any  way  abate.  She  was  part  and  portion  of 
himself — his  life — his  light — his  all  in  all — and  to  his 
childlike  imagination  a  purer,  nobler  being  had  never 
been  created  than  his  darling  sister  Maude.  And  well 
might  Louis  Kennedy  love  the  self-sacrificing  girl 
who  devoted  herself  so  wholly  to  him,  and  who  well 
fulfilled  her  mother's  charge,  "  Care  for  my  little 
boy." 

Nellie,  too,  was  well  beloved,  but  he  soon  grew 
weary  of  her  company,  for  she  seldom  talked  of  anything 
save  herself  and  the  compliments  which  were  given  to 
her  youthful  beauty.  And  Nellie,  at  the  age  of  eigh- 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  71 

teen,  was  beautiful,  if  that  can  be  called  beauty  which 
is  void  of  heart  or  soul  or  intellect.  She  was  very  small, 
and  the  profusion  of  golden  curls  which  fell  about  her 
neck  and  shoulders,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  being 
younger  than  she  really  was.  Her  features  were  al 
most  painfully  regular,  her  complexion  dazzlingly 
brilliant,  while  her  large  blue  eyes  had  in  them  a 
dreamy,  languid  expression  exceedingly  attractive  to 
those  who  looked  for  nothing  beyond — no  inner  cham 
ber  where  dwell  the  graces  which  make  a  woman 
what  she  ought  to  be.  Louis'  artist  eye,  undeveloped 
though  it  was,  acknowledged  the  rare  loveliness  of 
Nellie's  face.  She  would  make  a  beautiful  picture, 
he  thought — but  for  the  noble,  the  good,  the  pure,  he 
turned  to  the  dark-eyed  Maude,  who  was  as  wholly 
unlike  her  stepsister  as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  be. 
The  one  was  a  delicate  blonde,  the  other  a  decided 
brunette,  with  hair  and  eyes  of  deepest  black.  Her 
complexion,  too,  was  dark,  but  tinged  with  a  beautiful 
red,  which  Nellie  would  gladly  have  transferred  to  her 
own  paler  cheek.  It  was  around  the  mouth,  however, 
the  exquisitely-shaped  mouth,  and  white  even  teeth, 
that  Maude's  principal  beauty  lay,  and  the  bright  smile 
which  lit  up  her  features  when  at  all  animated  in  con 
versation  would  have  made  a  plain  face  handsome. 
Some  there  were  who  gave  her  the  preference,  saying 
there  was  far  more  beauty  in  her  clear,  beautiful  eyes 
and  sunny  smile  than  in  the  dollish  face  of  Nellie, 
who  treated  such  remarks  with  the  utmost  scorn. 
She  knew  that  she  was  beautiful.  She  had  known  it 
all  her  life — for  had  she  not  been  told  so  by  her  mir 
ror,  her  father,  her  schoolmates,  her  aunt  Kelsey,  and 
more  than  all  by  J.  C.  De  Vere,  the  elegant  young  man 
whom  she  had  met  in  Rochester,  where  she  had  spent 


72  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

the  winter  preceding  the  summer  of  which  we  now 
are  writing,  and  which  was  four  and  one  half  years 
after  Matty's  death. 

Greatly  had  the  }Toung  lady  murmured  on  her  return 
against  the  dreary  old  house  and  lonely  life  at  Laurel 
Hill,  which  did  indeed  present  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  city  gaieties  in  which  she  had  been  mingling. 
Even  the  cosy  little  chamber  which  the  kind-hearted 
Maude  had  fitted  up  for  her  with  her  own  means,  was 
pronounced  heathenish  and  old-fashioned,  while  Maude 
herself  was  constantly  taunted  with  being  countrified 
and  odd. 

"  I  wish  J.  C.  De  Vere  could  see  you  now,"  she  said 
one  morning  to  her  sister,  who  had  donned  her  work 
ing  dress,  and  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  wide  checked 
apron  tied  around  her  waist,  was  deep  in  the  mysteries 
of  bread -making. 

"  I  wish  he  could  see  her,  too,"  said  Louis,  who  had 
rolled  his  chair  into  the  kitchen  so  that  he  could  be 
with  Maude.  "  He  would  say  he  never  saw  a  hand 
somer  color  than  the  red  upon  her  cheeks." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  returned  Nellie.  "  I  guess  he  knows  the 
difference  between  rose-tint  and  sunburn.  Why,  he's 
the  most  fastidious  man  I  ever  saw.  He  can't  endure 
the  smell  of  cooking,  and  says  he  would  never  look 
twice  at  a  lady  whose  hands  were  not  as  soft  and  white 
as — well,  as  mine,"  and  she  glanced  admiringly  at  the 
little  snowy  fingers,  which  were  beating  a  tune  upon 
the  window-sill. 

"  I  wants  no  better  proof  that  he's  a  fool,"  muttered 
old  Hannah,  who  looked  upon  Nellie  as  being  what 
she  really  was,  a  vain,  silly  thing. 

"  A  fool,  Hannah,"  retorted  Nellie ;  "  I'd  like  to 
have  Aunt  Kelsey  hear  you  say  that.  Why,  he's  the 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  73 

very  best  match  in  Rochester.  All  the  girls  are  dying 
for  him,  but  he  don't  care  a  straw  for  one  of  them. 
He's  out  of  health  now,  and  is  coming  here  this  sum 
mer  with  Aunt  Kelsey,  and  then  you'll  see  how  per 
fectly  refined  he  is.  By  the  way,  Maude,  if  I  had  as 
much  money  at  my  command  as  you  have,  I'd  fix  up 
the  parlor  a  little.  You  know  father  won't,  and  that 
carpet,  I'll  venture  to  say,  was  in  the  ark.  I  almost 
dread  to  have  J.  C.  come,  he's  so  particular,  but  then 
he  knows  we  are  rich,  and  beside  that,  Aunt  Kelsey 
has  told  him  just  how  stingy  father  is,  so  I  don't  care 
so  much.  Did  I  tell  you  J.  C.  has  a  cousin  James,  who 
may  possibly  come  too.  I  never  saw  him,  but  Aunt 
Kelsey  says  he's  the  queerest  man  that  ever  lived.  He 
never  was  known  to  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  a 
woman  unless  she  was  married  or  engaged.  He  has  a 
most  delightful  house  at  Hampton,  where  he  lives  with 
his  mother,  but  he'll  never  marry,  unless  it  is  some 
hired  girl  who  knows  how  to  work.  Why,  he  was 
once  heard  to  say  he  would  sooner  marry  a  good-natured 
Irish  girl  than  a  fashionable  city  lady,  who  knew  noth 
ing  but  to  dress,  and  flirt,  and  play  the  piano — the 
wretch  ! " 

"  Oh !  I  know  I  should  like  him,"  exclaimed  Louis, 
who  had  been  an  attentive  listener. 

"  I  dare  say  you  would,  and  Maude,  too,"  returned 
Nellie,  adding,  after  a  moment ;  "  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  Maude  just  suited  him,  particularly  if  he 
finds  her  up  to  her  elbows  in  dough.  So,  Maude,  it  is 
for  your  interest  to  improve  the  old  castle  a  little. 
Won't  you  buy  a  new  carpet  ?  "  and  she  drew  nearer 
to  Maude,  who  made  no  direct  reply. 

The  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  interest  money 
which  she  had  received  the  year  before  had  but  little 


74  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

of  it  been  expended  on  herself,  though  it  had  purchased 
many  a  comfort  for  the  household,  for  Maude  was 
generous,  and  freely  gave  what  was  her  own  to  give. 
The  parlor  carpet  troubled  even  her,  but  she  would 
not  pledge  herself  to  buy  another,  until  she  had  first 
tried  her  powers  of  persuasion  upon  the  doctor,  who, 
as  she  expected,  refused  outright. 

"  He  knew  the  carpet  was  faded,"  he  said,  "  but 
'twas  hardly  worn  at  all,  and  'twas  a  maxim  of  his  to 
make  things  last  as  long  as  possible." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Nellie,  who  was  present,  quoted 
Aunt  Kelsey,  and  J.  0.  De  Vere,  the  old  doctor  didn't 
care  a  straw  for  either,  unless  indeed,  J.  C.  should 
some  time  take  Nellie  off  his  hands,  and  pay  her  bills, 
which  were  altogether  too  large  for  one  of  his  maosims. 
That  this  would  probably  be  the  result  of  the  young 
man's  expected  visit,  had  been  strongly  hinted  by  Mrs. 
Kelsey,  and  thus  was  he  more  willing  to  have  him 
come.  But  on  the  subject  of  the  carpet  he  was  inex 
orable,  and  with  tears  of  anger  in  her  large  blue  eyes, 
Nellie  gave  up  the  contest,  while  Maude  very  quietly 
walked  over  to  the  store,  and  gave  orders  that  a  hand 
some  thee-ply  carpet  which  she  had  heard  her  sister 
admire,  should  be  sent  home  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  You  are  a  dear  good  girl  after  all,  and  I  hope 
James  De  Vere  Avill  fall  in  love  with  you,"  was  Nellie's 
exclamation  as  she  saw  a  large  roll  deposited  at  their 
door,  but  not  a  stitch  in  the  making  of  the  carpet  did 
she  volunteer  to  take.  "  She  should  prick  her  fingers, 
or  callous  her  hand,"  she  said,  "  and  Mr.  De  Vere 
thought  so  much  of  a  pretty  hand." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  John,  who  was  still  a  member  of 
the  family,  "  nonsense,  Miss  Nellie.  I'd  give  a  heap 
more  for  one  of  Miss  Maude's  little  fingers,  red  and 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  75 

rough  as  they  be,  than  I  would  for  both  them  soft, 
sickish  feeling  hands  of  yourn  ; "  and  John  hastily  dis 
appeared  from  the  room  to  escape  the  angry  words 
which  he  knew  would  follow  his  bold  remark. 

Nellie  was  not  a  favorite  at  home,  and  no  one 
humored  her  as  much  as  Maude,  who,  on  this  occasion, 
almost  outdid  herself  in  her  endeavors  to  please  the 
exacting  girl,  and  make  the  house  as  presentable  as 
possible  to  the  fashionable  Mrs.  Kelsey,  and  the  still 
more  fashionable  J.  C.  De  Vere.  The  new  carpet  was 
nicely  fitted  to  the  floor,  new  curtains  hung  before  the 
windows,  the  old  sofa  was  re-covered,  the  piano  was 
tuned,  a  hat-stand  purchased  for  the  hall,  the  spare 
chamber  cleaned,  and  then,  very  impatiently  Nellie 
waited  for  the  day  when  her  guests  were  expected  to 
arrive. 

The  time  came  at  last,  a  clear  June  afternoon,  and 
immediately  after  dinner  Nellie  repaired  to  her  cham 
ber,  so  as  to  have  ample  time  to  try  the  effect  of  her 
different  dresses,  ere  deciding  upon  any  one.  Maude, 
too,  was  a  good  deal  excited,  for  one  of  her  even  tem 
perament.  She  rather  dreaded  Mrs.  Kelsey,  whom  she 
had  seen  but  twice  in  her  life,  but  for  some  reason, 
wholly  inexplicable  to  herself,  she  felt  a  strange  in 
terest  in  the  wonderful  J.  (7.,  of  whom  she  had  heard 
so  much.  Not  that  he  would  notice  her  in  the  least, 
but  a  man  who  could  turn  the  heads  of  all  the  girls  in 
Rochester  must  be  somewhat  above  the  common  order 
of  mortals;  and  when  at  last  her  work  was  done,  and 
she,  too,  went  up  to  dress,  it  was  with  an  unusual  de 
gree  of  earnestness  that  she  asked  her  sister  what  she 
should  wear  that  would  be  becoming. 

"  Wear  what  you  please,  but  don't  bother  me."  an 
swered  Nellie,  smoothing  down  the  folds  of  her  light 


76  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

blue  muslin,  which  harmonized  admirably  with  her 
clear  complexion. 

"  Maude,"  called  Louis,  from  the  adjoining  room, 
"wear  white.  You  always  look  pretty  in 'white." 

"  So  does  every  black  person  !  "  answered  Nellie, 
feeling  provoked  that  she  had  not  advised  the  wearing 
of  some  color  not  as  becoming  to  Maude  as  she  knew 
white  to  be. 

Maude  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  Louis'  taste,  and 
when,  fifteen  minutes  later,  she  stood  before  the  mirror, 
her  short,  glossy  curls  clustering  about  her  head,  a 
bright  bloom  on  her  cheek,  and  a  brighter  smile  upon 
her  lip,  she  thought  it  was  the  dress  which  made  her 
look  so  well,  for  it  had  never  entered  her  mind  that 
she  was  handsome. 

"  Wear  your  coral  earrings,"  said  Louis,  who  had 
wheeled  himself  into  the  room,  and  was  watching  her 
with  all  a  fond  brother's  pride. 

The  earrings  were  a  decided  improvement,  and  the 
jealous  Nellie,  when  she  saw  how  neat  and  tasteful  was 
her  sister's  dress,  began  to  cry,  saying,  "  she  herself 
looked  a  fright,  that  she'd  nothing  fit  to  wear,  and  if 
her  father  did  not  buy  her  something  she'd  run  away." 

This  last  was  her  usual  threat  when  at  all  indignant, 
and  as  after  giving  vent  to  it  she  generally  felt  better, 
she  soon  dried  her  tears,  saying,  "  she  was  glad  any 
way  that  she  had  blue  eyes,  for  J.  C.  could  not  endure 
black  ones." 

"Maybe  James  can,"  was  the  quick  rejoinder  of 
Louis,  who  always  defended  Maude  from  Nellie's 
envious  attacks. 

By  this  time  the  clock  was  striking  five.  Half  an 
hour  more  and  they  would  be  there,  and  going  through 
the  rooms  below,  Nellie  looked  to  see  if  everything 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  77 

was  in  order,  then  returning  to  her  chamber  above,  she 
waited  impatiently  until  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard 
in  the  distance.  A  cloud  of  dust  was  visible  next,  and 
soon  a  large  traveling-carriage  stopped  at  the  gate 
laden  with  trunks  and  boxes,  as  if  its  occupants  had 
come  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  summer.  A  straight, 
slender,  dandified -looking  young  man  sprang  out,  fol 
lowed  by  another  far  different  in  style,  though  equally 
as  fine  looking.  The  lady  next  alighted,  and  scarcely 
were  her  feet  upon  the  ground  when  she  was  caught 
around  the  neck  by  a  little  fairy  figure  in  blue,  which 
had  tripped  gracefully  down  the  walk,  seemingly  un 
conscious,  but  really  very  conscious  of  every  step  she 
took,  for  the  black-moustached  young  man,  who  touched 
his  hat  to  her  so  politely,  was  particular  about  a 
woman's  gait. 

A  little  apart  from  the  rest  stood  the  stranger, 
casually  eyeing  the  diminutive  creature,  of  whose 
beauty  and  perfections  he  had  heard  so  much,  both 
from  her  partial  aunt  and  his  half-smitten  cousin. 
There  was  a  momentary  thrill — a  feeling  such  as  one 
experiences  in  gazing  upon  a  rare  piece  of  sculpture— 
and  then  the  heart  of  James  De  Yere  resumed  its 
accustomed  beat,  for  lie  knew  the  inner  chamber  of  the 
mind  was  empty,  and  henceforth  Nellie's  beauty  would 
have  no  attraction  for  him.  Very  prettily  she  led  the 
way  to  the  house,  and  after  ushering  her  guests  into 
the  parlor,  ran  up-stairs  to  Maude,  bidding  her  to  order 
supper  at  once,  and  telling  her  as  a  piece  of  important 
news,  which  she  did  not  already  know,  that  "Aunt 
Kelsey,  James,  and  J.  C.  had  come." 


78  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

JAMES  AND  J.  C. 

JAMES  and  J.  C.  De  Vere  were  cousins,  and  also 
cousins  of  Mrs.  Kelsey's  husband ;  and  hence  the  in 
timacy  between  that  lady  and  themselves,  or  rather 
between  that  lady  and  J.  C.,  who  was  undeniably  the 
favorite,  partly  because  he  was  much  like  herself,  and 
partly  because  of  his  name,  which  she  thought  so  ex 
clusive — so  different  from  any  one's  else.  His  romantic 
young  mother,  who  liked  anything  savoring  at  all  of 
Waverly,  had  inflicted  upon  him  the  cognomen  of 
Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  and  repenting  of  her  act  when 
too  late,  had  dubbed  him  "  J.  C."  by  which  name  he 
was  now  generally  known.  The  ladies  called  him  "  a 
love  of  a  man,"  and  so  he  was,  if  a  faultless  form,  a 
wicked  black  eye,  a  superb  set  of  teeth,  an  unexcep 
tionable  moustache,  a  tiny  foot,  the  finest  of  broad 
cloth,  reported  wealth,  and  perfect  good  humor  con 
stitute  the  ingredients  which  make  up  "  a  love  of  a 
man."  Added  to  this,  he  really  did  possess  a  good  share 
of  common  sense,  and  with  the  right  kind  of  influence, 
would  have  made  a  far  different  man  from  what  he 
was.  Self-love  was  the  bane  of  his  life,  and  as  he  liked 
dearly  to  be  flattered,  so  he  in  turn  became  a  most 
consummate  flatterer  ;  always,  however,  adapting  his 
remarks  to  the  nature  of  the  person  with  whom  he  was 
conversing.  Thus  to  Nellie  Kennedy,  he  said  a  thou- 

o  •/  j 


JAMES  AND  J.  C.  79 

sand  foolish  things,  just  because  he  knew  he  gratified 
her  vanity  by  doing  so.  Although  possessing  the  rep 
utation  of  a  wealthy  man,  J.  C.  was  far  from  being 
one,  and  his  great  object  was  to  secure  a  wife,  who, 
while  not  distasteful  to  him,  still  had  money  enough 
to  cover  many  faults,  and  such  an  one  he  fancied  Nellie 
Kennedy  to  be.  From  Mrs.  Kelsey  he  had  received 
the  impression  that  the  doctor  was  very  rich,  and  as 
Nellie  was  the  only  daughter,  her  fortune  would 
necessarily  be  large.  To  be  sure,  he  would  rather  she 
had  been  a  little  more  sensible,  but  as  she  was  not,  he 
resolved  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  although  claiming 
to  be  something  of  an  invalid  in  quest  of  health,  it  was 
really  with  the  view  of  asking  her  to  be  his  wife  that 
he  had  come  to  Laurel  Hill.  He  had  first  objected  to 
his  cousin  accompanying  him — not  for  fear  of  rivalry, 
but  because  he  disliked  what  he  might  say  of  Nellie, 
for  if  there  was  a  person  in  the  world  whose  opinion 
he  respected,  and  whose  judgment  he  honored,  it  was 
his  cousin  James. 

Wholly  unlike  J.  C.,  was  James,  and  yet  he  was 
quite  as  popular,  for  one  word  from  him  was  more 
highly  prized  by  scheming  mothers  and  artful  young 
girls,  than  the  most  complimentary  speech  that  J.  C. 
ever  made.  He  meant  what  he  said  ;  and  to  the  kindest, 
noblest  of  hearts,  he  added  a  fine  commanding  person,  a 
finished  education,  and  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  manner, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  unbounded  wealth,  and  musical 
voice,  whose  low,  deep  tones  had  stirred  the  heart 
strings  of  more  than  one  fair  maiden  in  her  teens,  but 
stirred  them  in  vain,  for  James  De  Yere  had  never  seen 
the  woman  he  wished  to  call  his  wife ;  and  now,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-six,  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  con 
firmed  old  bachelor,  whom  almost  any  one  would  marry, 


80  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

but  whom  no  one  ever  could.  He  had  come  to  Laurel 
Hill  because  Mrs.  Kelsey  had  asked  him  so  to  do,  and 
because  he  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to  spend  a  few 
weeks  in  that  part  of  the  country. 

Of  Maude's  existence  he  knew  nothing,  and  when 
at  last  supper  was  announced,  and  he  followed  his 
cousin  to  the  dining-room,  he  started  in  surprise,  as  his 
eye  fell  on  the  dark-eyed  girl,  who,  with  a  heightened 
bloom  upon  her  cheek,  presided  at  the  table,  with  so 
much  grace  and  dignity.  "Whether  intentionally  or 
not,  we  cannot  say,  but  Nellie  failed  to  introduce  her 
stepsister,  and  as  Mrs.  Kelsey  was  too  much  absorbed 
in  looking  at  her  pretty  niece,  and  in  talking  to  her 
brother,  to  notice  the  omission,  Maude's  position  would 
have  been  peculiarly  embarrassing,  but  for  the  gen 
tlemanly  demeanor  of  James,  who,  always  courteous, 
particularly  to  those  whom  he  thought  neglected, 
bowed  politely,  and  made  to  her  several  remarks  con 
cerning  the  fineness  of  the  day,  and  the  delightful 
view  which  Laurel  Hill  commanded  of  the  surrounding 
country.  She  was  no  menial,  he  knew,  and  looking  in 
her  bright,  black  eyes,  he  saw  that  she  had  far  more 
mind  than  the  dollish  Nellie,  who,  as  usual,  was  pro 
voking  J.  C.  to  say  all  manner  of  foolish  things. 

As  they  were  returning  to  the  parlor,  J.  C.  said  to 
Nellie :  "  By  the  way,  Nell,  who  is  that  young  girl  in 
white,  and  what  is  she  doing  here  ?  " 

"Why,  that's  Maude  "Remington,  my  stepsister," 
answered  Nellie.  "  I'm  sure  you've  heard  me  speak  of 
her." 

J.  C.  was  sure  he  hadn't ;  but  he  did  not  contradict 
the  little  lady,  whose  manner  plainly  indicated  that 
any  attention  paid  by  him  to  the  said  Maude  would 
be  resented  as  an  insult  to  herself.  Just  then,  Mrs. 


JAMES  AND  J.  C.  81 

Kelsey  went  up-stairs,  taking  her  niece  with  her  ;  and, 
as  Dr.  Kennedy  had  a  patient  to  visit,  he,  too,  asked 
to  be  excused,  and  the  young  men  were  left  alone. 
The  day  was  warm,  and  sauntering  out  beneath  the 
trees,  they  sat  down  upon  a  rustic  seat,  which  com 
manded  a  view  of  the  dining-room,  the  doors  and 
windows  of  which  were  open,  disclosing  to  view  all 
that  was  transpiring  within. 

"  In  the  name  of  wonder,  what's  that  ?  "  exclaimed 
J.  C.,  as  he  saw  a  curiously  shaped  chair  wheeling 
itself,  as  it  were,  into  the  room. 

"  It  must  be  Dr.  Kennedy's  crippled  boy,"  answered 
James,  as  Louis  skipped  across  the  floor  on  crutches, 
and  climbed  into  the  chair  which  Maude  carefully  held 
for  him. 

Louis  did  not  wish  to  eat  with  the  strangers  until 
somewhat  acquainted,  consequently  he  waited  until 
they  were  gone,  and  then  came  to  the  table,  where 
Maude  stood  by  his  side,  carefully  ministering  to  his 
wants,  and  assisting  him  into  his  chair  when  he  was 
through.  Then,  pushing  back  her  curls,  and  donning 
the  check  apron  whi'ch  Nellie  so  much  abhorred,  she 
removed  the  dishes  herself,  for  old  Hannah  she  knew 
was  very  tired,  having  done  an  unusual  amount  of 
work  that  day. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Jim,  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  that's 
the  very  one  for  you,"  said  J.  C.,  puffing  leisurely  at 
his  cigar,  and  still  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
figure  in  white,  as  if  to  one  of  his  fastidious  taste  there 
was  nothing  very  revolting  in  seeing  Maude  Reming 
ton  wash  the  supper  dishes,  even  though  her  hands 
were  brown  and  her  arms  a  little  red. 

James  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  when  he  did, 
he  said  :  "  Do  you  remember  a  little  girl  we  met  in 


82  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

the  cars  between  Springfield  and  Albany  several  years 
ago  when  we  were  returning  from  school  ?  She  was 
a  funny  little  black-eyed  creature,  and  amused  us  very 
much  with  her  remarks." 

"  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  I  remembered  her,"  returned 
J.  C.,  "  for  didn't  she  say  I  looked  as  if  I  didn't  mean  for 
certain  ?  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Jim,  I've  thought  of  the 
speech  more  than  a  thousand  times  when  I've  been 
saying  things  I  did  not  mean  to  foolish  girls  and  their 
mammas.  But  what  reminded  you  of  her  ?  " 

"  If  I  mistake  not,  that  child  and  the  young  lady 
yonder  are  one  and  the  same.  You  know  she  told  us 
her  name  was  Maude  Remington,  and  that  the  naughty 
man  behind  us  wasn't  her  father,  and  she  didn't  like 
him  a  bit,  or  something  like  that." 

"  And  I  honor  her  judgment  both  in  his  case  and 
mine,"  interrupted  J.  C.,  continuing,  after  a  moment : 
"  The  old  fellow  looks  as  that  man  did.  I  guess  you 
are  right.  I  mean  to  question  Cuffee  on  the  subject," 
and  he  beckoned  to  John,  who  was  passing  at  no  great 
distance. 

"  Sambo,"  said  he,  as  the  negro  approached,  "  who 
is  that  young  lady  using  the  broom-handle  so  vigor 
ously  ? "  and  he  pointed  to  Maude,  who  was  finishing 
her  domestic  duties,  by  brushing  the  crumbs  from  the 
carpet. 

"  If  you  please,  sar,  my  name  is  John,"  answered 
the  African,  assuming  a  dignity  of  manner  which  even 
J.  C.  respected. 

"  Be  it  Jo/in,  then,"  returned  the  young  man,  "  but 
tell  us  how  long  has  she  lived  here,  and  where  did  she 
come  from  ? " 

Nothing  pleased  John  better  than  chance  to  talk  of 
Maude,  and  he  replied  :  "  She  came  here  twelve  years 


JAMES  AND  J.  C.  83 

ago  this  very  month  with  that  little  blue- eyed  mother 
of  hern,  who  is  lyin'  under  them  willers  in  the  grave 
yard.  We  couldn't  live  without  Miss  Maude.  She's  all 
the  sunshine  thar  is  about  the  lonesome  old  place. 
Why,  she  does  everything,  from  takin'  care  of  her 
crippled  half-brother  to  mendin'  t'other  one's  gownd." 

"  And  who  is  t'other  one  ? "  asked  J.  C.,  beginning 
to  feel  greatly  interested  in  the  negro's  remarks. 

"  T'other  one,"  said  John,  "is  Miss  Nellie,  who 
won't  work  for  fear  of  s'ilin'  her  hands,  which  some  fool 
of  a  city  chap  has  made  her  b'lieve  are  so  white  and 
handsome,"  and  a  row  of  ivory  was  just  visible,  as, 
leaning  against  a  tree,  John  watched  the  effect  of  his 
words  upon  "  the  fool  of  a  city  chap." 

J.  C.  was  exceedingly  good  natured,  and  tossing  his 
cigar  into  the  grass,  he  replied,  "  You  don't  mean  me, 
of  course  ;  but  tell  us  more  of  this  Maude,  who  mops 
the  floor  and  mends  Nellie's  dresses." 

"  She  don't  mop  the  floor,"  muttered  John.  "  This 
nigger  wouldn't  let  her  do  that — but  she  does  mend 
Nellie's  gownds,  which  I  wouldn't  do,  if  I's  worth  as 
much  money  as  she  is !  " 

If  J.  C.  had  been  interested  before,  he  was  doubly 
interested  now,  and  coming  nearer  to  John,  he  said  : 
"  Money,  my  good  fellow  !  is  Maude  an  heiress  ?  " 

"  She  ain't  nothin'  else,"  returned  John,  who 
proceeded  to  speak  of  Janet  and  her  generous  gift,  the 
amount  of  which  he  greatly  exaggerated.  "  Nobody 
knows  how  much  'tis,"  said  he ;  "  but  everybody 
s'poses  that  will  and  all  it  must  be  thirty  or  forty 
thousand,"  and  as  the  doctor  was  just  then  seen  riding 
into  the  yard,  John  walked  away  to  attend  to  his 
master's  horse. 

"  Those  butter  and  cheese  men  do  accumulate  money 


84  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

fast,"  said  J.  C.,  more  to  himself  than  to  his  companion, 
who  laughingly  replied,  "  It  would  be  funny  if  you 
should  make  this  Maude  my  cousin  instead  of  Nellie. 
Let  me  see — cousin  Nellie — cousin  Maude.  I  like  the 
sound  of  the  latter  the  best,  though  I  am  inclined  to 
think  she  is  altogether  too  good  for  a  mercenery  dog 
like  you," 

"  Pshaw ! "  returned  J.  C.,  pulling  at  the  maple 
leaves  which  grew  above  his  head,  "  I  hope  you  don't 
think  I'd  marry  a  rude  country  girl  for  her  money. 
No,  give  me  la  charmante  Nellie,  even  though  she 
cannot  mend  her  dress,  and  you  are  welcome  to  cousin 
Maude,  the  milkman's  heiress." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Kelsey  and  Nellie  appeared 
upon  the  stoop,  and  as  Maude  was  no  longer  visible, 
the  young  gentlemen  returned  to  the  parlor,  where 
J.  C.  asked  Nellie  to  favor  him  with  some  music. 
Nellie  liked  to  play,  for  it  showed  her  white  hands  to 
advantage,  and  seating  herself  at  the  piano,  she  said  : 
"  I  have  learned  a  new  song  since  I  saw  you,  but  Maude 
must  sing  the  other  part — maybe,  though,  I  can  get 
along  without  her." 

This  last  was  said  because  she  did  not  care  to  have 
Maude  in  the  parlor,  and  she  had  inadvertently  spoken 
of  her  singing.  The  young  men,  however,  were  not  as 
willing  to  excuse  her,  and  Maude  was  accordingly  sent 
for.  She  came  readily,  and  performed  her  part  without 
the  least  embarrassment,  although  she  more  than  once 
half  paused  to  listen  to  the  rich,  full  tones  of  James's 
voice,  for  he  was  an  unusually  fine  singer ;  Maude  had 
never  heard  anything  like  it  before,  and  when  the  song 
was  ended,  the  bright,  sparkling  eyes  which  she  turned 
upon  him  told  of  her  delight  quite  as  eloquently  as 
words  could  have  done. 


JAMES  AND  J.  C.  85 

"  You  play,  I  am  sure,  Miss  Remington,"  he  said,  as 
Nellie  arose  from  the  stool. 

Maude  glanced  at  her  red  hands,  which  J.  C.  would 
be  sure  to  notice,  then  feeling  ashamed  to  hesitate  for 
a  reason  like  this,  she  answered,  "Yes,  sometimes," 
and  taking  her  seat,  she  played  several  pieces,  keeping 
admirable  time,  and  giving  to  the  music  a  grace  and 
finish  which  Nellie  had  often  tried  in  vain  to  imitate. 

"  Mr.  De  Yere  did  not  expect  you  to  play  all  night," 
called  out  the  envious  girl,  who,  not  satisfied  with 
having  enticed  J.  C.  from  the  piano,  wished  James  to 
join  her  also. 

"  She  is  merely  playing  at  my  request,"  said  Mr. 
De  Yere,  "  but  if  it  is  distasteful  to  Miss  Kennedy  we 
will  of  course  desist,"  and  bending  low  he  said  a  few 
words  of  commendation  to  Maude,  whose  heart  thrilled 
to  the  gentle  tones  of  his  voice  just  as  many  another 
maiden's  had  done  before. 

Mr.  De  Yere  was  exceedingly  agreeable,  and  so 
Maude  found  him  to  be,  for  feeling  intuitively  that  she 
was  somewhat  slighted  by  the  overbearing  Nellie,  he 
devoted  himself  to  her  entirely,  talking  first  of  books, 
then  of  music,  and  lastly  of  his  home,  which,  without 
any  apparent  boasting,  he  described  as  a  most  beautiful 
spot. 

For  a  long  time  that  night  did  Louis  wait  for  his 
sister  in  his  little  bed,  and  when  at  last  she  came  to 
give  him  her  accustomed  kiss,  he  pushed  the  thick  curls 
from  off  her  face  and  said,  "  I  never  saw  you  look  so 
happy,  Maude.  Do  you  like  that  Mr.  De  Yere  ?  " 

"  Which  one  ? "  asked  Maude.  "  There  are  two,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Louis,  "  but  I  mean  the 
one  with  the  voice.  Forgive  me,  Maude,  but  I  sat  ever 


86  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

so  long  at  the  bead  of  the  stairs,  listening  as  he  talked. 
He  is  a  good  man,  I  am  sure.  Will  you  tell  me  how 
he  looks  ? " 

Maude  could  not  well  describe  him.  She  only  knew 
that  he  was  taller  than  J.C.,  and,  as  she  thought,  much 
finer  looking,  with  deep  blue  eyes,  dark  brown  hair, 
and  a  mouth  just  fitted  to  his  voice.  Farther  than 
this,  she  could  not  tell.  "  But  you  will  see  him  in  the 
morning,"  she  said.  "  I  have  told  him  how  gifted,  how 
good  you  are,  and  to-morrow  he  says  he  shall  visit  you 
in  your  den." 

"  Don't  let  the  other  one  come,"  said  Loujs  hastily, 
"  for  if  he  can't  endure  red  hands,  he'd  laugh  at  my 
withered  feet,  and  the  bunch  upon  my  back ;  but  the 
other  one  won't,  I  know." 

Maude  knew  so  too,  and  somewhat  impatiently  she 
waited  for  the  morrow,  when  she  could  introduce  her 
brother  to  her  friend.  The  morrow  came,  but,  as  was 
frequently  the  case,  Louis  was  suffering  from  a  severe 
pain  in  his  back,  which  kept  him  confined  to  his  room, 
so  that  Mr.  De  Vere  neither  saw  him  at  all  nor  Maude 
as  much  as  he  wished  to  do.  He  had  been  greatly 
interested  in  her,  and  when  at  dinner  he  heard  that  she 
would  not  be  down,  he  was  conscious  of  a  feeling-  of 

7  O 

disappointment.  She  was  not  present  at  supper  either, 
but  after  it  was  over  she  joined  him  in  the  parlor,  and, 
together  with  J.  C.  and  Nellie,  accompanied  him  to 
the  graveyard,  where,  seating  herself  upon  her  mother's 
grave,  she  told  him  of  that  mother,  and  the  desolation 
which  crept  into  her  heart  when  first  she  knew  she 
was  an  orphan.  From  talking  of  her  mother  it  was  an 
easy  matter  to  speak  of  her  Vernon  home,  which  she 
had  never  seen  since  she  left  it  twelve  years  before,  and 
then  Mr.  De  Vere  asked  if  she  had  met  two  boys  in 


JAMES  AND  J.  C.  8T 

the  cars  on  her  way  to  Albany.  At  first  Maude  could 
not  recall  them,  and  when  at  last  she  did  so,  her 
recollections  were  so  vague  that  Mr.  De  Yere  felt 
another  pang  of  disappointment,  though  wherefore  he 
could  not  tell,  unless  indeed,  he  thought  there  Avould 
be  something  pleasant  in  being  remembered  twelve 
long  years  by  a  girl  like  Maude  Remington.  He 
reminded  her  of  her  remark  made  to  his  cousin,  and 
in  speaking  of  him  casually,  alluded  to  his  evident 
liking  for  Nellie,  saying  playfully,  "  Who  knows,  Miss 
Remington,  but  you  may  some  time  be  related  to  me — 
not  my  cousin  exactly,  though  Cousin  Maude  sounds 
well.  I  like  that  name." 

"  I  like  it  too,"  she  said  impulsively,  "  much  better 
than  Miss  Remington,  which  seems  so  stiff." 

"  Then  let  me  call  you  so.  I  have  no  girl  cousin  in, 
the  world,"  and  leaning  forward,  he  put  back  from  her 
forehead  one  of  her  short,  glossy  curls,  which  had  been 
displaced  by  the  evening  breeze. 

This  was  a  good  deal  for  him  to  do.  Never  before 
had  he  touched  a  maiden's  tresses,  and  he  had  no  idea 
that  it  would  make  his  fingers  tingle  as  it  did.  Still, 
on  the  whole,  he  liked  it,  and  half-wished  the  wind 
would  blow  those  curls  over  the  upturned  face  again, 
but  it  did  not,  and  he  was  about  to  make  some  casual 
remark,  when  J.  C.,  who  was  not  far  distant,  called 
out,  "  Making  love,  I  do  believe  !  " 

The  speech  was  sudden,  and  grated  harshly  on 
James'  ear.  Not  because  the  idea  of  making  love  to 
Maude  was  utterly  distasteful,  but  because  he  fancied 
she  might  be  annoyed,  and  over  his  features  there  came 
a  shadow,  which  Maude  did  not  fail  to  observe. 

"He  does  not  wish  to  be  teased  about  me,"  she 
thought,  and  around  the  warm  spot  which  the  name  of 


88  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  Cousin  Maude "  had  made  within  her  heart,  there 
crept  a  nameless  chill — a  fear  that  she  had  been  de 
graded  in  his  eyes.  "  I  must  go  back  to  Louis,"  she 
said  at  last,  and  rising  from  her  mother's  grave,  she 
returned  to  the  house,  accompanied  by  Mr.  De  Vere, 
who  walked  by  her  side  in  silence,  wondering  if  she 
really  cared  for  J.  C.'s  untimely  joke. 

"  James  De  Vere  did  not  understand  the  female 
heart,  and  wishing  to  relieve  Maude  from  all  embarrass 
ment  in  her  future  intercourse  with  himself,  he  said  to 
her  as  they  reached  the  door  :  "  My  Cousin  Maude 
must  not  mind  what  J.  C.  said,  for  she  knows  it  is  not 
so." 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  Maude's  answer,  as  she  ran  up 
stairs,  hardly  knowing  whether  she  wished  it  were,  or 
were  not  so. 

One  thing,  however,  she  knew.  She  liked  to  have 
him  call  her  Cousin  Maude ;  and  when  Louis  asked 
what  Mr.  De  Vere  had  said  beneath  the  willows,  she 
told  him  of  her  new  name,  and  asked  if  he  did  not  like 
it. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  but  I'd  rather  you  were  his 
sister,  for  then  maybe  he'd  call  me  brother,  even  if  I 
am  a  cripple.  How  I  wish  I  could  see  him,  and  per 
haps  I  shall  to-morrow." 

But  on  the  morrow  Louis  was  so  much  worse  that, 
in  attending  to  him,  Maude  found  but  little  time  to 
spend  with  Mr.  De  Vere,  who  was  to  leave  them  that 
evening.  When,  however,  the  carriage  which  was  to 
take  him  away  stood  at  the  gate,  she  went  down  to 
bid  him  good-by,  and  ask  him  to  visit  them  again. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so,"  he  said  ;  and  then,  as 
they  were  standing  alone  together,  he  continued : 
"  Though  I  have  not  seen  as  much  of  you  as  I  wished, 


JAMES  AND  J.  C.  89 

I  shall  remember  my  visit  at  Laurel  Hill  with  pleasure. 
In  Hampton,  there  are  not  many  ladies  for  whose 
acquaintance  I  particularly  care,  and  I  have  often 
wished  that  I  had  some  female  friend  with  whom  I 
could  correspond,  and  thus  while  away  some  of  my 
leisure  moments.  Will  my  Cousin  Maude  answer  me 
if  I  should  some  time  chance  to  write  her,  mere  friendly, 
cousinly  letters,  of  course  ?  " 

This  last  he  said  because  he  mistook  the  deep  flush 
on  Maude's  cheek  for  an  unwillingness  to  do  anything 
which  looked  at  all  like  "  making  love." 

"I  will  write,'-  was  all  Maude  had  a  chance  to  say 
ere  Nellie  joined  them,  accompanied  by  J.  C.,  who  had 
not  yet  terminated  his  visit  at  Laurel  Hill,  and  as  soon 
as  his  cousin  left  he  intended  removing  to  the  hotel, 
where  he  would  be  independent  of  Dr.  Kennedy,  and 
at  the  same  time  devote  himself  to  the  daughter  or 
stepdaughter,  just  as  he  should  feel  inclined. 

Some  such  idea  might  have  intruded  itself  upon  the 
mind  of  James,  for  wrhen,  at  parting,  he  took  his 
cousin's  hand,  he  said,  "  You  have  my  good  wishes  for 
your  success  with  Nellie,  but " 

"  But  not  with  t'other  one,  hey  ? "  laughingly  re 
joined  J.  C.,  adding  that  James  need  have  no  fears,  for 
there  was  not  the  slightest  possibility  of  his  addressing 
the  Milkman's  Heiress  ! 

Alas  for  J.  C.'s  honesty  !  Even  while  he  spoke,  there 
was  treachery  in  his  saucy  eyes,  for  the  milkman's 
heiress,  as  he  called  her,  was  not  to  him  an  object  of 
dislike,  and  when,  after  the  carriage  drove  away,  he 
saw  the  shadows  on  her  face,  and  suspected  their 
cause,  he  felt  a  strong  desire  that  his  departure  might 
affect  her  in  a  similar  manner.  That  evening,  too, 
when  Nellie  sang  to  him  his  favorite  song,  he  kept  one 


90  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

ear  turned  toward  the  chamber  above,  where,  in  a  low, 
sweet  voice,  Maude  Remington  sang  her  suffering 
brother  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning  he  removed  to  the  hotel,  saying- 
he  should  probably  remain  there  during  the  summer, 
as  the  air  of  Laurel  Hill  was  highly  conducive  to  his 
rather  delicate  health ;  but  whether  he  meant  the  in 
vigorating  breeze,  which  blew  from  the  surrounding 
hills,  or  an  heir  of  a  more  substantial  kind,  time  and 
our  story  will  show. 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  91 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS. 

MB.  DE  VERB  had  been  gone  four  weeks.  Louis  had 
entirely  recovered  from  his  illness,  and  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  J.  C.,  with  whom  he  was  on  the  best  of 
terms.  Almost  every  bright  day  did  the  young  man 
draw  the  little  covered  wagon  through  the  village,  and 
away  to  some  lovely  spot,  where  the  boy  artist  could 
indulge  in  his  favorite  occupation — that  of  sketching 
the  familiar  objects  around  him.  At  first  Nellie  ac 
companied  them  in  these  excursions  ;  but  when  one  day 
her  aunt,  who  still  remained  at  Laurel  Hill,  pointed  out 
to  her  a  patch  of  sunburn  and  a  dozen  freckles — the 
result  of  her  outdoor  exercise,  she  declared  her  inten 
tion  of  remaining  at  home  thereafter — a  resolution  not 
altogether  unpleasant  to  J.  C.,  as  by  this  means  Maude 
was  more  frequently  his  companion. 

If  our  readers  suppose  that  to  a  man  of  J.  C.'s  nature 
there  was  anything  particularly  agreeable  in  thus  de 
voting  himself  to  a  cripple  boy,  they  are  mistaken,  for 
Louis  Kennedy  might  have  remained  indoors  for  ever, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  sunny  smile  and  look  of  grati 
tude  which  Maude  Remington  always  gave  to  J.  C. 
De  Yere,  when  he  came  for  or  returned  with  her  dar 
ling  brother.  Insensibly  the  domestic  virtues  and  quiet 
ways  of  the  black-haired  Maude  were  winning  a  strong 
hold  upon  J.  C.'s  affections,  and  still  he  had  never  seri 
ously  thought  of  making  her  his  wife.  He  only  knew 
that  he  liked  her,  that  he  felt  very  comfortable  where 


92  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

she  was,  and  very  uncomfortable  where  she  was  not — 
that  the  souud  of  her  voice  singing  in  the  choir  was  the 
only  music  he  heard  on  the  Sabbath  day,  and  though 
Nellie,  in  her  character  of  soprano,  ofttimes  warbled 
like  a  bird,  filling  the  old  church  with  melody,  he  did 
not  heed  it,  so  intent  was  he  in  listening  to  the  deeper, 
richer  notes  of  her  who  sang  the  alto,  and  whose 
fingers  swept  the  organ  keys  with  so  much  grace  and 
beauty. 

And  Maude !  within  her  bosom  was  there  no  inter 
est  awakened  for  one  who  thought  so  much  of  her  ? 
Yes,  but  it  was  an  interest  of  a  different  nature  from  his. 
She  liked  him,  because  he  was  so  much  more  polite  to 
her  than  she  had  expected  him  to  be,  and  more  than 
all,  she  liked  him  for  his  kindness  to  her  brother,  never 
dreaming  that  for  her  sake  alone  those  kindly  acts 
were  done.  Of  James  De  Yere  she  often  thought,  re 
peating  sometimes  to  herself  the  name  of  Cousin  Maude, 
which  had  sounded  so  sweetly  to  her  ear,  when  he  had 
spoken  it.  His  promise  she  remembered,  too,  and  as 
often  as  the  mail  came  in,  bringing  her  no  letter,  she 
sighed  involuntarily  to  think  she  was  forgotten.  Not 
forgotten,  Maude,  no,  not  forgotten,  and  when  one 
afternoon,  five  weeks  after  James's  departure,  J.  C. 
stood  at  her  side,  he  had  good  reason  for  turning  his 
eyes  away  from  her  truthful  glance,  for  he  knew  of  a 
secret  wrong  done  to  her  that  day.  There  had  come 
to  him  that  morning,  a  letter  from  James,  containing  a 
note  for  Maude,  and  the  request  that  he  would  hand  it 
to  her. 

"  I  should  have  written  to  her  sooner,"  James  wrote, 
"  but  mother's  illness  and  an  unusual  amount  of  busi 
ness  prevented  me  from  doing  so.  '  Better  late  than 
never,'  is,  however,  a  good  motto  at  times,  and  I  en- 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  9S 

trust  the  letter  to  you,  because  I  would  save  her  from 
any  gossip  which  an  open  correspondence  with  me  might 
create." 

For  James  De  Vere  to  write  to  a  young  girl  was  an 
unheard-of  circumstance,  and  the  sight  of  that  note 
aroused  in  J.  C.'s  bosom  a  feeling  of  jealousy  lest  the 
prize  he  now  knew  he  coveted  should  be  taken  from 
him.  No  one  but  himself  should  write  to  Maude  Rem 
ington,  for  she  was  his,  or  rather  she  should  be  his. 
The  contents  of  that  note  might  be  of  the  most  ordi 
nary  kind,  but  for  some  reason  undefinable  to  himself  he 
would  rather  she  should  not  see  it  yet,  and  though  it 
cost  him  a  struggle  to  deal  thus  falsely  with  both,  he 
resolved  to  keep  it  from  her  until  she  had  promised  to 
be  his  wife.  He  never  dreamed  it  possible  that  she 
could  tell  him  no  ;  he  had  been  so  flattered  and  admired 
by  the  city  belles,  and  the  only  point  which  troubled 
him  was  what  his  fashionable  friends  would  say  when 
in  place  of  the  Nellie,  whose  name  had  been  so  long 
associated  with  his,  he  brought  to  them  a  Maude  fresh 
from  the  rural  districts,  with  naught  in  her  disposition, 
save  goodness,  purity,  and  truth.  They  would  be  sur 
prised,  he  knew,  but  she  was  worth  a  thousand  of  them 
all,  and  then,  with  aglow  of  pride,  he  thought  how  his 
tender  love  and  care  would  shield  her  from  all  unkind 
remarks,  and  how  he  would  make  himself  worthy  of 
such  a  treasure. 

This  was  the  nobler,  better  part  of  J.  C.'s  nature,  but 
anon  a  more  sordid  feeling  crept  in,  and  he  blushed  to 
find  himself  wondering  how  large  her  fortune  really 
was !  No  one  knew,  save  the  lawyers  and  the  trustee 
to  whose  care  it  had  been  committed,  and  since  he  had 
become  interested  in  her,  he  dared  not  question  them, 
lest  they  should  accuse  him  of  mercenary  motives. 


94  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Was  it  as  large  as  Nellie's?  He  wished  he  knew, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  he  declared  to  himself  that  it 
should  make  no  difference.  The  heart  which  had  with 
stood  so  many  charms  was  really  interested  at  last,  and 
though  he  knew  both  Mrs.  Kelsey  and  her  niece  would 
array  themselves  against  him,  he  was  prepared  to  with 
stand  the  indignation  of  the  one  and  the  opposition  of 
the  other. 

So  perfectly  secure  was  Nellie  in  J.  C.'s  admiration 
for  herself,  that  she  failed  to  see  his  growing  prefer 
ence  for  Maude,  whom  she  frequently  ridiculed  in  his 
presence,  just  because  she  thought  he  would  laugh  at 
it,  and  think  her  witty.  But  in  this  she  was  mistaken, 
for  her  ridicule  raised  Maude  higher  in  his  estimation, 
and  he  was  glad  when  at  last  an  opportunity  occurred 
for  him  to  declare  his  intentions. 

For  a  week  or  more,  Nellie,  and  a  few  of  the  young 
people  of  the  village,  had  been  planning  a  picnic  to  the 
lake  and  the  day  was  finally  decided  upon.  Nellie  did 
not  ask  J.  C.  if  he  were  going  ;  she  expected  it  as  a 
matter  of  course,  just  as  she  expected  that  Maude 
would  stay  at  home  to  look  after  Louis  and  the  house. 
But  J.  C.  had  his  own  opinion  of  the  matter,  and  when 
the  morning  came  he  found  it  very  convenient  to  be 
suffering  from  a  severe  headache,  which  would  not 
permit  him  to  leave  his  bed,  much  less  to  join  the 
pleasure-party. 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  Miss  Kennedy,"  he  said  to 
the  young  man  who  came  to  his  door,  "  and  tell  her  I 
cannot  possible  go  this  morning,  but  will  perhaps  come 
down  this  afternoon." 

"  Mr.  De  Vere  not  going !  I  can't  believe  it !  "  and 
the  angry  tears  glittered  in  Nellie's  blue  eyes,  when  she 
heard  the  message  he  had  sent  her. 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  95 

"  Not  going  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kelsey,  while  even 
Maude  sympathized  in  the  general  sorrow,  for  her 
hands  had  prepared  the  repast,  and  she  had  taken 
especial  pains  with  the  pies  which  Mr.  De  Yere  liked 
the  best,  and  which,  notwithstanding  his  dislike  to 
kitchen  odors,  he  had  seen  her  make,  standing  at  her 
elbow,  and  complimenting  her  skill. 

Nellie  was  in  favor  of  deferring  the  ride,  but  others 
of  the  party,  who  did  not  care  so  much  for  Mr.  De 
Vere's  society,  objected,  and  poutingly  tying  on  her 
flat,  the  young  lady  took  her  seat  beside  her  aunt,  who 
was  scarcely  less  chagrined  than  herself  at  their  dis 
appointment. 

Meanwhile,  from  behind  his  paper  curtains,  J.  C. 
looked  after  the  party  as  they  rode  away,  feeling  some 
what  relieved  when  the  blue  ribbons  of  Nellie's  flat 
disappeared  from  view.  For  appearance's  sake,  he  felt 
obliged  to  keep  his  room  for  an  hour  or  more,  but  at 
the  end  of  that  time  he  ventured  to  feel  better,  and 
dressing  himself  with  unusual  care,  he  started  for  Dr. 
Kennedy's,  walking  very  slowly,  as  became  one  suffer 
ing  from  a  nervous  headache,  as  he  was  supposed  to 
be.  Maude  had  finished  her  domestic  duties,  and  in 
tasteful  gingham  morning-gown,  with  the  whitest  of 
linen  collars  upon  her  neck,  she  sat  reading  alone  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden,  beneath  at  all  cherry  tree, 
where  John  had  built  her  a  rough  seat  of  boards.  This 
was  her  favorite  resort,  and  here  J.  C.  found  her,  so 
intent  upon  her  book  as  not  to  observe  his  approach 
until  he  stood  before  her.  She  seemed  surprised  to 
see  him,  and  made  anxious  inquiries  concerning  his 
headache,  which  he  told  her  was  much  better. 

"  And  even  if  it  were  not,"  said  he,  seating  himself 
at  her  feet ;  "  even  if  it  were  not,  the  sight  of  you,  look- 


96  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

ing  so  bright,  so  fresh  and  so  neat,  would  dissipate  it 
entirely,"  and  his  eyes,  from  which  the  saucy,  wicked 
look  was  for  the  moment  gone,  rested  admiringly  upon 
her  face. 

His  manner  was  even  more  pointed  than  his  words, 
and  coloring  crimson,  Maude  replied,  "  You  are  dis 
posed  to  be  complimentary,  Mr.  De  Yere." 

"  I  am  disposed  for  once  to  tell  the  truth,"  he  an 
swered.  "  All  my  life  long  I  have  acted  a  part,  say 
ing  and  doing  a  thousand  foolish  things  I  did  not 
mean,  just  because  I  thought  it  would  please  the  sense 
less  bubbles  with  whom  I  have  been  associated.  But 
you,  Maude  Remington,  have  brought  me  to  my  senses, 
and  determined  me  to  be  a  man  instead  of  &fool.  Will 
you  help  me,  Maude,  in  this  resolution  ? "  and  seizing 
both  her  hands,  he  poured  into  her  astonished  ear  his 
declaration  of  love,  speaking  so  rapidly  and  so  vehe 
mently  as  almost  to  take  her  breath  away,  for  she  had 
never  expected  a  scene  like  this. 

She  had  looked  upon  him  as  one  who  would  undoubt 
edly  be  her  sister's  husband,  and  the  uniform  kindness 
with  which  he  had  treated  her,  she  attributed  to  his 
exceeding  good  nature  ;  but  to  be  loved  by  him ;  by  J. 
C.  De  Yere,  who  had  been  sought  after  by  the  fairest 
ladies  in  the  land,  she  could  not  believe  it  possible,  and 
with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure,  pain  and  gratified 
vanity,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Yery  gently  J.  C.  wiped  her  tears  away,  and  sitting 
clown  beside  her,  he  said,  "  The  first  time  I  ever  saw 
you,  Maude,  you  told  me  '  I  did  not  look  as  if  I  meant 
for  certain,'  and  you  were  right,  for  all  my  life  has 
been  a  humbug ;  but  I.  mean  *  for  certain'  now.  I  love 
you,  Maude,  love  you  for  the  very  virtues  which  I  have 
so  often  affected  to  despise,  and  you  must  make  me 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  97 

what  J.  C.  De  Yere  ought   to  be.     Will  you,  Maude  ? 
Will    you   be   my  wife  ?  " 

To  say  Maude  was  not  gratified  that  this  man  of 
fashion  should  prefer  her  to  all  the  world,  would  be 
an  untruth,  but  she  could  not  then  say  "  Yes,"  for 
another,  and  a  more  melodious  voice  was  still  ringing 
in  her  ear,  and  she  saw  in  fancy  a  taller,  nobler  form 
than  that  of  him  who  was  pressing  her  to  answer. 

"  Not  yet,  Mr.  De  Yere,"  she  said.  "  Not  yet.  I 
must  have  time  to  think.  It  has  come  upon  me  so 
suddenly,  so  unexpectedly,  for  I  have  always  thought 
of  you  as  Nellie's  future  husband,  and  my  manners  are 
so  different  from  what  you  profess  to  admire." 

"  'Twas  only  profession,  Maude,"  he  said,  and  then, 
still  holding  her  closely  to  him,  he  frankly  and  in 
genuously  gave  her  a  truthful  history  of  his  life  up  to 
the  time  of  his  first  acquaintance  with  Nellie,  of  whom 
he  spoke  kindly,  saying  she  pleased  him  better  than 
most  of  his  city  friends,  and  as  he  began  really  to 
want  a  wife,  he  had  followed  her  to  Laurel  Hill,  fully 
intending  to  offer  her  the  heart  which,  ere  he  was 
aware  of  it,  was  given  to  another.  "  And  now,  I 
cannot  live  without  you,"  he  said.  "  You  must  be 
mine.  Won't  you,  Maude  ?  I  will  be  a  good  husband. 
I  will  take  lessons  of  Cousin  James,  who  is  called  a 
pattern  man." 

The  mention  of  that  name  was  unfortunate,  and 
rising  to  her  feet  Maude  replied  :  "  I  cannot  answer 
you  now,  Mr.  de  Yere.  I  should  say,  No,  if  I  did, 
I  am  sure,  and  I  would  rather  think  of  it  awhile." 

He  knew  by  her  voice  that  she  was  in  earnest,  and 
kissing  her  hand  he  walked  rapidly  away,  his  love 
increasing  in  intensity  with  each  step  he  took.  He 
had  not  expected  anything  like  hesitancy.  Everyone 


98  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

else  had  met  his  advances  _at  least  half-way,  and 
Maude's  indecision  made  him  feel  more  ardent  than 
he  otherwise  might  have  been. 

"  What  if  she  should  refuse  me  ? "  he  said,  as  he 
paced  up  and  down  his  room,  working  himself  up  to 
such  a  pitch  of  feeling,  that  when  that  afternoon 
Nellie  on  the  lake  shore  was  waiting  impatiently  his 
coming,  he  on  his  pillow  was  really  suffering  all  the 
pangs  of  a  racking  headache,  brought  on  by  strong 
nervous  excitement.  "  What  if  she  should  say,  No  ? " 
he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  and  at  last,  maddened  by 
the  thought,  he  arose,  and  dashing  off  a  wild  rambling 
letter,  was  about  sending  it  by  a  servant,  when  he 
received  a  note  from  her,  for  an  explanation  of  which, 
we  will  go  back  an  hour  or  so  in  our  story. 

In  a  state  of  great  perplexity  Maude  returned  to  the 
house,  and  seeking  out  her  brother,  the  only  person  to 
whom  she  could  go  for  counsel,  she  told  him  of  the 
offer  she  had  received,  and  asked  him  what  he  thought. 
In  most  respects  Louis  was  far  older  than  his  years; 
and  he  entered  at  once  into  the  feelings  of  his  sister. 

"  J.  C.  De  Vere  propose  to  you ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  will  Nellie  say  ? " 

"  If  1  refuse,  she  never  need  to  know  of  it,"  answered 
Maude,  and  Louis  continued  :  "  They  say  he  is  a 
great  catch,  and  wouldn't  it  be  nice  to  get  him  away 
from  everybody  else.  But  what  of  the  other  De  Vere  ? 
Don't  you  like  him  the  best  ?  " 

Maude's  heart  beat  rapidly,  and  the  color  on  her 
cheek  deepened  to  a  brighter  hue,  as  she  replied, 
"  What  made  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  Louis'  answer,  "  only  when  he 
•was  here,  I  fancied  you  were  pleased  with  him,  and 
that  he  would  suit  you  better  than  J.  C." 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  99 

"  But  he  don't  like  me,"  said  Maude.  "  He  don't  like 
any  woman  well  enough  to  make  her  his  wife,"  and 
she  sighed  deeply  as  she  thought  of  his  broken  promise, 
and  the  letter  looked  for  so  long. 

"  Maude,"  said  Louis  suddenly,  "  men  like  J.  C.  De 
Vere  sometimes  marry  for  money,  and  maybe  he 
thinks  your  fortune  larger  than  it  is.  Most  everybody 
does." 

That  Maude  was  more  interested  in  J.  C.  De  Yere 
than  she  supposed,  was  proved  by  the  earnestness  with 
which  she  defended  him  from  all  mercenary  motives. 

"  He  knows  Nellie's  fortune  is  much  larger  than  my 
own,"  she  said,  "  and,  by  preferring  me  to  her,  he 
shows  that  money  is  not  his  motive." 

Still  Louis's  suggestion  troubled  her,  and  by  way  of 
testing  the  matter,  she  sat  down  at  once  and  wrote  him 
a  note,  telling  him  frankly  how  much  she  had  in  her 
own  name,  and  how  much  in  expectancy.  This  note 
she  sent  to  him  by  John,  who,  naturally  quick-witted, 
read  a  portion  of  the  truth  in  her  tell-tale  face,  and 
giving  a  loud  whistle  in  token  of  his  approbation,  he 
exclaimed,  "  This  nigger'll  never  quit  larfin'  if  you  gets 
him,  after  all  Miss  Nellie's  nonsense,  and  I  hopes  you 
will,  for  he's  a  heap  better  chap  than  I  s'posed,  though 
I  b'lieve  I  like  t'other  one  the  best ! " 

Poor  Maude  !  That  other  one  seemed  destined  to  be 
continually  thrust  upon  her,  but  resolving  to  banish 
him  from  her  mind,  as  one  who  had  long  since  ceased 
to  think  of  her,  she  waited  impatiently  for  a  reply  to 
her  letter. 

Very  hastily  J.  C.  tore  it  open,  hoping,  believing 
that  it  contained  the  much-desired  answer.  "  I  knew 
she  could  not  hold  out  against  me — no  one  ever  did," 
he  said ;  but  when  he  read  the  few  brief  lines,  he 


100  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

dashed  it  to  the  floor  with  an  impatient  "  Pshaw  !  " 
feeling  a  good  deal  disappointed  that  she  had  not  said 
T'es,  and  a  very  little  disappointed  that  the  figures 
were  not  larger ! 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  the  twentieth  of  next  June, 
and  five  thousand  more  when  that  old  Janet  dies  ;  ten 
thousand  in  all.  Quite  a  handsome  property  if  Maude 
could  have  it  at  once.  I  wonder  if  she's  healthy,  this 
Mrs.  Hopkins,"  soliloquized  J.  C.,  until  at  last,  a  new 
idea  entered  his  mind,  and  striking  his  fist  upon  the 
table,  he  exclaimed,  "  Of  course  she  will.  Such  peo 
ple  always  do,  and  that  knocks  the  will  in  the  head  !  " 
and  J.  C.  De  Yere  frowned  wrathfully  upon  the  little 
imaginary  Hopkinses  who  were  to  share  the  milkman's 
fortune  with  Maude. 

Just  then  a  girlish  figure  was  seen  beneath  the  trees 
in  Dr.  Kennedy's  yard,  and  glancing  at  the  white  cape 
bonnet,  J.  C.  knew  that  it  was  Maude,  the  sight  of 
whom  drove  young  Hopkins  and  the  will  effectually 
from  his  mind.  "  He  would  marry  her,  anyway,"  he 
said,  "  five  thousand  dollars  was  enough  ;  "kand  donning 
his  hat,  he  started  at  once  for  the  doctor's.  Maude 
had  returned  to  the  house,  and  was  sitting  with  her 
brother,  when  the  young  man  was  announced.  Wholly 
unmindful  of  Louis's  presence,  he  began  at  once  by 
asking  "  if  she  esteemed  him  so  lightly  as  to  believe 
that  money  could  make  any  difference  with  him." 

"  It  influences  some  men,"  answered  Maude,  "  and 
though  you  may  like  me " 

"  Like  you,  Maude  Remington,"  he  exclaimed,  "  like 
is  a  feeble  word.  I  worship  you,  I  love  the  very  air 
you  breathe,  and  you  must  be  mine.  "Will  you, 
Maude  ? " 

J.  C.  had  never  before  been  so  much  in  earnest,  for 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  101 

never  before  bad  be  met  witb  tbe  least  indecision,  and 
be  continued  pleading  bis  cause  so  vebemently  tbat 
Louis,  wbo  was  wholly  unprepared  for  so  stormy  a 
wooing,  stopped  bis  ears,  and  wbispered  to  bis  sister, 
"  Tell  him  Yes,  before  be  drives  me  crazy  !  " 

But  Maude  felt  tbat  sbe  must  bave  time  for  sober, 
serious  reflection  ;  J.  C.  was  not  indifferent  to  ber, 
and  the  thought  was  very  soothing  that  she  wbo  bad 
never  aspired  to  tbe  honor  bad  been  chosen  from  all 
-others  to  be  bis  wife.  He  was  handsome,  agreeable, 
Idnd-hearted,  and,  as  she  believed,  sincere  in  his  love 
for  ber.  And  still  there  was  something  lacking.  Sbe 
could  not  well  tell  what,  unless,  indeed,  she  would  bave 
bim  more  like  James  De  Vere. 

"  Will  you  answer  me  ? "  J.  C.  said,  after  there  had 
been  a  moment's  silence,  and  in  his  deep  black  eyes 
there  was  a  truthful,  earnest  look,  wholly  unlike  the 
wicked,  treacherous  expression  usually  hidden  there. 

"  Wait  awhile,"  answered  Maude,  coming  to  bis  side 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Wait  a  few 
days,  and  I  most  know  1  shall  tell  you  Yes.  I  like 
you,  Mr.  De  Yere,  and  if  I  hesitate,  it  is  because — be 
cause — I  really  don't  know  what,  but  something  keeps 
telling  me  tbat  our  engagement  may  be  broken,  and  if 
so,  it  had  better  not  be  made." 

There  was  another  storm  of  words,  and  then,  as 
Maude  still  seemed  firm  in  her  resolution  to  do  nothing 
hastily  J.  C.  took  bis  leave.  As  the  door  closed  after 
him,  Louis  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and,  turning 
to  his  sister  said :  "  I  never  beard  anything  like  it ;  I 
wonder  if  James  would  act  like  that !  " 

"  Louis,"  said  Maude,  but  ere  Louis  could  reply  she 
had  changed  her  mind,  and  determined  not  to  tell  him 
that  James  De  Yere  alone  stood  between  ber  and  the 


102  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

decision  J.  C.  pleaded  for  so  earnestly.  So  she  said  : 
"  Shall  I  marry  J.  C.  De  Yere  ? " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  love  him,"  answered  Louis.  "  He 
will  take  you  to  Rochester  away  from  this  lonesome 
house.  I  shall  live  with  you  more  than  half  the  time, 
and " 

Here  Louis  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  wheels. 
Mrs.  Kelsey  and  Nellie  had  returned  from  the  Lake, 
and  bidding  her  brother  say  nothing  of  what  he  had 
heard,  Maude  went  down  to  meet  them.  Nellie  was 
in  the  worst  of  humors.  "  Her  head  was  aching  hor 
ridly.  She  had  spent  an  awful  day — and  J.  C.  was 
wise  in  staying  at  home." 

"  How  is  he  ? "  she  asked,  "  though  of  course  you 
have  not  seen  him." 

Maude  was  about  to  speak,  when  Hannah,  delighted 
with  a  chance  to  disturb  Nellie,  answered  for  her. 
"  It's  my  opinion  that  headache  was  all  a  sham,  for  you 
hadn't  been  gone  an  hour  afore  he  was  over  here  in 
the  garden  with  Maude,  where  he  stayed  ever  so  long. 
Then  he  came  agen  this  afternoon,  and  hasn't  but  jest 
gone." 

Nellie  had  not  sufficient  discernment  to  read  the  truth 
of  this  assertion  in  Maude's  crimson  cheeks,  but  Mrs. 
Kelsey  had,  and  very  sarcastically  she  said  :  "  Miss 
Remington,  I  think,  might  be  better  employed  than  in 
trying  to  supplant  her  sister." 

"I  have  not  tried  to  supplant  her,  madam,"  an 
swered  Maude,  her  look  of  embarrassment  giving  way 
to  one  of  indignation  at  the  unjust  accusation. 

"  May  I  ask,  then,  if  Mr.  De  Yere  has  visited  you 
twice  to-day,  and  if  so,  what  was  the  object  of  those 
visits  ?  "  continued  Mrs.  Kelsey,  who  suddenly  remem 
bered  several  little  incidents  which  had  heretofore 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  103 

passed  unheeded,  and  which,  now  that  she  recalled  them 
to  mind,  proved  that  J.  C.  De  Yere  was  interested  in 
Maude. 

"  Mr.  De  Yere  can  answer  for  himself,  and  I  refer 
you  to  him,"  was  Maude's  reply,  as  she  walked  away. 

Nellie  began  to  cry.  "  Maude  had  done  something," 
she  knew,  "  and  it  wouldn't  be  a  bit  improper  for  a 
woman  as  old  as  Aunt  Kelsey  to  go  over  and  see  how 
Mr.  De  Yere  was,  particularly  as  by  this  means  she 
might  find  out  why  he  had  been  there  so  long  with 
Maude." 

Mrs.  Kelsey  was  favorably  impressed  with  this  idea, 
and  after  changing  her  dusty  dress  and  drinking  a  cup 
of  tea,  she  started  for  the  hotel.  J.  C.  was  sitting  near 
the  window,  watching  anxiously  for  a  glimpse  of 
Maude,  when  his  visitor  was  announced.  Seating  her 
self  directly  opposite  him,  Mrs.  Kelsey  inquired  after 
his  headache,  and  then  asked  how  he  had  passed  the 
day. 

"  Oh,  in  lounging,  generally,"  he  answered,  while  she 
continued,  "  Hannah  says  you  spent  the  morning  there, 
and  also  a  part  of  the  afternoon.  Was  my  brother  at 
home  ? " 

"  He  was  not.  I  went  to  see  Maude,"  J.  C.  replied 
somewhat  stiffly,  for  he  began  to  see  the  drift  of  her 
remarks. 

Mrs.  Kelsey  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  proceeded 
to  say  that  "  J.  C.  ought  not  to  pay  Miss  Eemington 
much  attention,  as  she  was  very  susceptible  and  might 
fancy  him  in  earnest." 

"  And  suppose  she  does?  "  said  J.  C.,  determining  to 
brave  the  worst.  "  Suppose  she  does  ? " 

Mrs.  Kelsey  was  very  uncomfortable,  and  coughing  a 
little  she  replied,  "It  is  wrong  to  raise  hopes  which 


104  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

cannot  be  realized,  for  of  course  you  have  never  en 
tertained  a  serious  thought  of  a  low  country  girl  like 
Maude  Kemington." 

There  had  been  a  time  when  a  remark  like  this  from 
the  fashionable  Mrs.  Kelsey  would  have  banished  any 
girl  from  J.  C.'s  mind,  for  he  was  rather  dependent  on 
the  opinion  of  others,  but  it  made  no  difference  now, 
and,  warming  up  in  Maude's  defense,  he  replied,  "  I 
assure  you,  madam,  I  have  entertained  serious  thoughts 
toward  Miss  Remington,  and  have  this  day  asked  her 
to  be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife !  "  almost  screamed  the  high-bred  Mrs. 
Kelsey.  "  What  will  your  city  friends — what  will 
Nellie  say?" 

"  Confound  them  all,  I  don't  care  what  they  say," 
and  J.  C.  drove  his  knife-blade  into  the  pine  table, 
while  he  gave  his  reasons  for  having  chosen  Maude  in 
preference  to  Nellie,  or  any  one  else  he  had  ever  seen. 
"  There's  something  to  her,"  said  he,  "  and  with  her 
for  my  wife,  I  shall  make  a  decent  man.  "What  would 
Nellie  and  I  do  together — when  neither  of  us  know 
anything — about  business,  I  mean,"  he  added,  while 
Mrs.  Kelsey  rejoined,  "I  always  intended  that  you 
would  live  with  me,  and  I  had  that  handsome  suite  of 
rooms  arranged  expressly  for  Nellie  and  her  future 
husband.  I  have  no  children,  and  my  niece  will  in 
herit  my  property." 

This,  under  some  circumstances  would  have  strongly 
tempted  the  young  man,  nay,  it  might  perchance  have 
tempted  him  then,  had  not  the  deep  tones  of  the  organ 
at  that  moment  have  reached  his  ear.  It  was  the  night 
when  Maude  usually  rehearsed  for  the  coming  Sabbath, 
and  soon  after  her  interview  with  her  sister,  she  had 
gone  to  the  church  where  she  sought  to  soothe  her 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  105 

ruffled  spirits,  by  playing  a  most  plaintive  air.  The 
music  was  singularly  soft  and  sweet,  and  the  heart  of 
J.  C.  De  Yere  trembled  to  the  sound,  for  he  knew  it 
was  Maude  who  played — Maude,  who  outweighed  the 
tempting  bait  which  Mrs.  Kelsey  offered,  and  with 
a  magnanimity  quite  astonishing  to  himself,  he  an 
swered,  "  Poverty  with  Maude,  rather  than  riches 
with  another ! " 

"  Be  it  so,  then,"  was  Mrs.  Kelsey's  curt  reply,  "  but 
when  in  the  city  you  blush  at  your  bride's  awkward 
ness,  don't  expect  me  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  for  Maude 
Remington  cannot  by  me  be  recognized  as  an  equal," 
and  the  proud  lady  swept  from  the  room,  wearing  a 
deeply  injured  look,  as  if  she  herself  had  been  refused, 
instead  of  her  niece. 

"  Let  me  off  easier  than  I  supposed,"  muttered  J.  C., 
as  he  watched  her  cross  the  street,  and  enter  Dr.  Ken 
nedy's  gate.  "  It  will  be  mighty  mean,  though,  if  she 
does  array  herself  against  my  wife,  for  Madam  Kelsey 
is  quoted  everywhere,  and  even  Mrs.  Lane,  who  lives 
just  opposite,  dare  not  open  her  parlor  blinds  until  as 
sured  by  ocular  demonstration  that  Mrs.  Kelsey's  are 
open  too.  Oh,  fashion,  fashion,  what  fools  you  make 
of  your  votaries  !  I  am  glad  that  I  for  one  dare  break 
your  chain,  and  marry  whom  I  please,"  and  feeling 
more  amiably  disposed  toward  J.  C.  De  Vere  than  he 
had  felt  for  many  a  day,  the  young  man  started  for  the 
church,  where  to  his  great  joy  be  found  Maude  alone. 

She  was  not  surprised  to  see  him,  nay,  she  was  half 
expecting  him,  and  the  flush  which  deepened  on  her 
cheek  as  he" came  to  her  side,  showed  that  his  presence 
was  not  unwelcome.  Human  nature  is  the  same  every 
where,  and  though  Maude  was  perhaps  as  free  from  its 
weaknesses  as  almost  any  one,  the  fact  that  her  lover 


106  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

was  so  greatly  coveted  by  others,  increased  rather  than 
diminished  her  regard  for  him,  and  when  he  told  her 
what  had  passed  between  himself  and  Mrs.  Kelsey,  and 
urged  her  to  give  him  a  right  to  defend  her  against 
that  haughty  woman's  attacks  by  engaging  herself  to 
him  at  once,  she  was  more  willing  to  tell  him  Yes,  than 
she  had  been  in  the  morning.  Thoughts  of  James  De 
Yere  did  not  trouble  her  now — he  had  ceased  to  re 
member  her  ere  this — had  never  been  more  interested 
in  her  than  in  any  ordinary  acquaintance,  and  so, 
though  she  knew  she  could  be  happier  with  him  than 
with  the  one  who  with  his  arm  around  her  waist,  was 
pleading  for  her  love,  she  yielded  at  last,  and  in  that 
dim  old  church,  with  the  summer  moonlight  stealing 
up  the  dusky  aisles,  she  promised  to  be  the  wife  of 
J.  C.  De  Yere  on  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

Yery  pleasant  now  it  seemed  sitting  there  alone  with 
him  in  the  silent  church.  Yery  pleasant  walking  with 
him  down  the  quiet  street,  and  when  her  chamber  was 
reached,  and  Louis,  to  whom  she  told  her  story,  whis 
pered  in  her  ear,  "  I  am  glad  that  is  so,"  she  thought  it 
very  nice  to  be  engaged,  and  was  conscious  of  a  happier, 
more  independent  feeling  than  she  had  ever  known 
before.  It  seemed  so  strange  that  she,  an  unpretend 
ing  country  girl,  had  won  the  heart  that  many  a  city 
maiden  had  tried  in  vain  to  win,  and  then  with  a  pang 
she  thought  of  Nellie,  wondering  what  excuse  she 
could  render  her  for  having  stolen  J.  C.  away. 

"  But  he  will  stand  between  us,"  she  said,  "  he  will 
shield  me  from  her  anger,"  and  grateful  for  so  potent  a 
protector,  she  fell  asleep,  dreaming  alas,  not  of  J.  C., 
but  of  him  who  called  her  Cousin  Maude,  and  whose 
cousin  she  really  was  to  be. 

J.  C.  De  Yere,  too,  had  dreams  of  a  dark-eyed  girl, 


THE  MILKMAN'S  HEIRESS.  107 

who,  in  the  shadowy  church,  with  the  music  she  had 
made  still  vibrating  on  the  ear,  had  promised  to  be 
his.  Dreams,  too,  he  had  of  a  giddy  throng  who  scoffed 
at  the  dark-eyed  girl,  calling  her  by  the  name  which 
he  himself  had  given  her.  It  was  not  meet,  they  said, 
that  he  should  wed  the  "  Milkman's  Heiress,"  but  with 
a  nobleness  of  soul  unusual  in  him,  he  paid  no  heed  to 
their  remarks,  and  folded  the  closer  to  his  heart  the 
bride  which  he  had  chosen. 
Alas !  that  dreams  so  often  prove  untrue. 


108  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  ENGAGEMENT,  REAL  AND    PROSPECTIVE. 

To  her  niece  Mrs.  Kelsey  had  communicated  the  re 
sult  of  her  interview  with  J.  C.,  and  that  young  lady 
had  fallen  into  a  violent  passion,  which  merged  itself 
at  last  into  a  flood  of  1 3ars,  and  ended  finally  in  strong 
hysterics.  While  in  this  latter  condition,  Mrs.  Kelsey 
deemed  it  necessary  to  summon  her  brother,  to  whom 
she  narrated  the  circumstances  of  Nellie's  illness.  To 
say  that  the  doctor  was  angry  would  but  feebly  ex 
press  the  nature  of  his  feelings.  He  had  fully  expected 
that  Nellie  would  be  taken  off  his  hands,  and  he  had  lat 
terly  a  very  good  reason  for  wishing  that  it  might  be  so. 

Grown-up  daughters,  he  knew,  were  apt  to  look 
askance  at  stepmothers,  and  if  he  should  wish  to  bring 
another  there,  he  would  rather  that  Nellie  should  be 
out  of  the  way.  So  he  railed  at  the  innocent  Maude, 
and  after  exhausting  all  the  maxims  which  would  at 
all  apply  to  that  occasion,  he  suggested  sending  for 
Mr.  De  Yere,  and  demanding  an  explanation.  But 
this  Mrs  Kelsey  would  not  suffer. 

"  It  will  do  no  good,"  she  said,  "  and  may  make  the 
matter  worse  by  hastening  the  marriage.  I  shall  re 
turn  home  to-morrow,  and  if  you  do  not  object  shall 
take  your  daughter  with  me,  to  stay  at  least  six  months, 
as  she  needs  a  change  of  scene.  I  can,  if  necessary, 
intimate  to  my  friends  that  she  has  refused  J.  C.,. 
who,  in  a  fit  of  pique,  has  offered  himself  to  Maude, 


THE  ENGAGEMENT.  109 

\  and  that  will  save  Nellie  from  all  embarrassment.  He 
will  soon  tire  of  his  new  choice,  and  then " 

"  I  won't  have  him  if  he  does,'-  gasped  Nellie,  inter 
rupting  her  aunt  ;  "  I  won't  have  anybody  who  has 
first  proposed  to  Maude.  I  wish  she'd  never  come 
here,  and  if  pa  hadn't  brought  that  woman " 

"  Helen !  "  and  the  doctor's  voice  was  very  stern,  for 
time  had  not  erased  from  his  heart  all  love  for  the  blue- 
eyed  Matty,  the  gentle  mother  of  the  offending  Maude, 
and  more  than  all,  the  mother  of  his  boy — "  Helen, 
that  woman  was  my  wife,  and  you  must  not  speak  dis 
respectfully  of  her." 

Nellie  answered  by  a  fresh  burst  of  tears,  for  her 
own  conscience  smote  her  for  having  spoken  thus 
lightly  of  one  who  had  ever  been  kind  to  her. 

After  a  moment,  Mrs.  Kelsey  resumed  the  conversa 
tion  by  suggesting  that,  as  the  matter  could  not  now 
be  helped,  they  had  better  say  nothing,  but  go  off  on 
the  morrow  as  quietly  as  possible,  leaving  J.  C.  to 
awake  from  his  hallucination,  which  she  was  sure  he 
would  do  soon,  and  follow  them  to  the  city.  This 
arrangement  seemed  wholly  satisfactory  to  all  parties, 
and  though  Nellie  declared  she'd  never  again  speak  to 
Jed  Be  Yere,  she  dried  her  tears,  and  retiring  to  rest, 
slept  quite  as  soundly  as  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life. 

The  next  morning  when  Maude  as  usual  went  down 
to  superintend  the  breakfast,  she  was  surprised  to  hear 
from  Hannah  that  Mrs.  Kelsey  was  going  that  day  to 
Rochester,  and  that  Nellie  was  to  accompany  her. 

"  Nobody  can  'cuse  me,"  said  Hannah,  "  of  not  'fillin 
scriptur'  oncet,  whar  it  says  '  them  as  has  ears  to  hear, 
let  'em  hear,'  for  I  did  hear  'em  a  talkin'  last  night  of 
you  and  Mr.  De  Yere,  and  I  tell  you  they're  ravin'  mad 
to  think  you'd  cotched  him ;  but  I'm  glad  on't.  You, 


110  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

desarves  him  if  anybody.  I  suppose  that  t'other  chap 
ain't  none  of  your  marryin'  sort,"  and  unconscious  of 
the  twinge  her  last  words  had  inflicted  Hannah  carried 
the  coffee-urn  to  the  dining-room,  followed  by  Maude, 
who  was  greeted  with  dark  faces  and  frowning  looks. 

Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  during  breakfast,  and 
when  after  it  was  over,  Maude  offered  to  assist  Nellie 
in  packing  her  trunks,  the  latter  answered  decisively, 
"  You've  done  enough,  I  think." 

A  few  moments  afterward,  J.  C.'s  voice  was  heard 
upon  the  stairs.  He  had  come  over  to  see  the  "  lioness 
and  her  cub,"  as  he  styled  Mrs.  Kelsey  and  her  niece, 
whose  coolness  was  amply  atoned  for  by  the  bright, 
joyous  glance  of  Maude,  to  whom  he  whispered  softly, 
"  Won't  we  have  glorious  times  when  they  are  gone  !  " 

Their  projected  departure  pleased  him  greatly,  and 
he  was  so  very  polite  and  attentive  that  Nellie  relented 
a  little,  and  asked  how  long  he  intended  remaining  at 
Laurel  Hill,  while  even  Mrs.  Kelsey  gave  him  her  hand 
at  parting,  and  said,  "  Whenever  you  recover  from 
your  unaccountable  fancy,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"You'll  wait  some  time,  if  you  wait  for  that," 
muttered  J.  C.,  as  he  returned  to  the  house  in  quest 
of  Maude,  with  whom  he  had  a  long  and  most  delight 
ful  interview,  for  old  Hannah,  in  unusually  good 
spirits,  expressed  her  willingness  to  see  to  everything, 
saying  to  her  young  mistress,  "  You  go  along  now, 
and  court  a  spell.  I  reckon  I  hain't  done  forgot  how 
I  and  Crockett  sot  on  the  fence  in  old  Yirginny  and 
heard  the  bobolinks  a  singin'." 

Old  Hannah  was  waxing  sentimental,  and  with  a 
heightened  bloom  upon  her  cheeks,  Maude  left  her  to 
her  memories  of  Crockett  and  the  bobolinks,  while  she 
went  back  to  her  lover.  J.  C.  was  well  skilled  in  the 


THE  ENGAGEMENT.  Ill 

little,  delicate  acts  which 'tend  to  win  and  keep  a 
woman's  heart,  and  in  listening  to  his  protestations  of 
love,  Maude  forgot  all  else,  and  abandoned  herself  to 
the  belief  that  she  was  perfectly  happjr.  Only  once 
did  her  pulses  quicken  as  they  would  not  have  done 
had  her  chosen  husband  been  all  that  she  could  wish, 
and  that  was  when  he  said  to  her,  "  I  wrote  to  James 
last  night,  telling  him  of  my  engagement.  He  will 
congratulate  me,  I  know,  for  he  was  greatly  pleased 
with  you." 

Much  did  Maude  wonder  what  James  would  say, 
and  it  was  not  long  ere  her  curiosity  was  gratified  ;  for 
scarcely  four  days  were  passed,  when  J.  C.  brought  to 
her  an  unsealed  note,  directed  to  "  Cousin  Maude." 

"  I  have  heard  from  Jim,"  he  said,  "  and  he  is  the 
best  fellow  in  the  world.  Hear  what  he  says  of  you," 
and  from  his  own  letter  he  read :  "  I  do  congratulate 
you  upon  your  choice.  Maude  Remington  is  a  noble 
creature — so  beautiful,  so  refined,  and  withal  so  pure 
and  good.  Cherish  her,  my  cousin,  as  she  ought  to  be 
cherished,  and  bring  her  some  time  to  my  home,  which 
will  never  boast  so  fair  a  mistress." 

"  I'm  so  glad  he's  pleased,"  said  J.  C.  "  I  would 
rather  have  his  approval  than  that  of  the  whole  world. 
But  what !  Crying,  I  do  believe  ! "  and  turning 
Maude's  face  to  the  light,  he  continued,  "  Yes,  there 
are  tears  on  your  eyelashes.  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  answered  Maude,  "  only  I  am 
so  glad  your  relatives  like  me." 

J.  C.  was  easily  deceived,  so  was  Maude — and 
mutually  believing  that  nothing  was  the  matter,  J.  C. 
drummed  on  the  piano,  while  Maude  tore  open  the  note 
which  James  had  written  to  her.  It  seemed  so  strange 
to  think  he  wrote  it,  and  Maude  trembled  violently, 


112  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

while  the  little  red  spots  came  out  all  over  her  neck 
and  face,  as  she  glanced  at  the  words,  "  My  dear 
Cousin  Maude" 

It  was  a  kind,  affectionate  note,  and  told  how  the 
writer  would  welcome  and  love  her  as  his  cousin,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  it  chided  her  for  not  having  answered 

'  O 

the  letter  sent  some  weeks  before.  "  Perhaps  you  did 
not  deem  it  worthy  of  an  answer,"  he  wrote,  "  but  I 
was  sadly  disappointed  in  receiving  none,  and  now  that 
you  are  really  to  be  my  cousin,  I  shall  expect  you  to 
do  better,  and  treat  me  as  if  I  had  an  existence.  J.  C. 
must  not  monopolize  you  wholly,  for  I  shall  claim  a 
share  of  you  for  myself." 

Poor,  poor  Maude !  She  did  not  feel  the  summer 
air  upon  her  brow — did  not  hear  the  discordant  notes 
which  J.  C.  made  upon  the  piano,  for  her  whole  soul 
was  centered  on  the  words,"  sadly  disappointed,"  "  love 
you  as  my  cousin,"  and  "  claim  a  share  of  you  for  myself." 

Only  for  a  moment,  though,  and  then  recovering  her 
composure,  she  said  aloud,  "  "What  does  he  mean  ?  I 
never  received  a  note." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  hastily  spoke  J.  C.,  and 
coming  to  her  side,  he  handed  her  the  soiled  missive, 
saying,  "  It  came  a  long  time  ago,  and  was  mislaid 
among  my  papers,  until  this  letter  recalled  it  to  my 
mind.  There  is  nothing  in  it  of  any  consequence,  I 
dare  say,  and  had  it  not  been  sealed,  I  might,  perhaps, 
have  read  it,  for  as  the  doctor  says,  '  it's  a  maxim  of 
mine,  that  a  wife  should  have  no  secrets  from  her  hus 
band.'  Hey  Maude  ? "  and  he  caressed  her  burning 
cheek  as  she  read  the  note,  which,  had  it  been  earlier 
received,  might  have  changed  her  whole  after  life. 

And  still  it  was  not  one  half  as  affectionate  in 
its  tone  as  was  the  last,  for  it  began  with,  "  Cousin 


THE  ENGAGEMENT.  113 

Maude  "  and  ended  with  "  Yours  respectfully,"  but  she 
knew  he  had  been  true  to  his  promise,  and  without  a 
suspicion  that  J.  0.  had  deceived  her,  she  placed  the 
letters  in  her  pocket,  to  be  read  again  when  she  was 
alone,  and  could  measure  every  word  and  sentiment. 

That  afternoon  when  she  went  to  her  chamber  to 
make  some  changes  in  her  dress,  she  found  herself 
standing  before  the  mirror  much  longer  than  usual, 
examining  minutely  the  face  which  James  De  Yere  had 
called  beautiful. 

"  He  thought  so,  or  he  would  not  have  said  it,  but  it 
is  false,"  she  whispered,  "  even  J.  C.  never  called  me 
handsome ; "  and  taking  out  the  note  that  day  re 
ceived,  she  read  it  again,  wondering  why  the  name 
"  Cousin  Maude  "  did  not  sound  as  pleasantly  as  when 
it  first  was  breathed  into  her  ear. 

That  night  as  she  sat  with  Louis  in  her  room,  she 
showed  the  letters  to  him,  at  the  same  time  explaining 
the  reason  why  one  of  them  was  not  received  before. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Louis,  as  he  finished  read 
ing  them,  "  for  now  I  know  that  James  De  Vere  don't 
like  you." 

"  Don't  like  me,  Louis !  "  and  in  Maude's  voice  there 
Avas  a  world  of  sadness. 

"I  mean,"  returned  Louis,  "  that  he  don't  love  you 
for  anything  but  a  cousin.  I  like  J.  C.  very,  very 
much,  and  I  am  glad  you  are  to  be  his  wife ;  but  I've 
sometimes  thought  that  if  you  had  waited,  the  other 
one  would  have  spoken,  for  I  was  almost  sure  he  loved 
you,  but  he  don't,  I  know ;  he  couldn't  be  so  pleased 
with  your  engagement,  nor  write  you  so  affectionately 
if  he  really  cared." 

Maude  hardly  knew  whether  she  were  pleased  or  not 
with  Louis'  reasoning.  It  was  true  though,  she  said, 


114  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

and  inasmuch  as  James  did  not  care  for  her,  and  she 
i  did  not  care  for  James,  she  was  very  glad  she  was  en 
gaged  to  J.  C.  !  And  with  reassured  confidence  in 
herself,  she  sat  down  and  wrote  an  answer  to  that  note, 
a  frank,  impulsive,  Maude-like  answer,  which,  never 
theless,  would  convey  to  James  De  Yere  no  idea  how 
large  a  share  of  that  young  girl's  thoughts  were  given 
to  himself. 

The  next  day  there  came  to  Maude  a  letter  bearing 
the  Canada  postmark,  together  with  the  unmistakable 
handwriting  of  Janet  Hopkins.  Maude  had  not  heard 
of  her  for  some  time,  and  very  eagerly  she  read  the 
letter,  laughing  immoderately,  and  giving  vent  to 
sudden  exclamations  of  astonishment  at  its  surprising 
intelligence.  Janet  was  a  mother  ! — "  a  livin'  mother 
to  a  child  born  out  of  due  season,"  so  the  delighted 
creature  wrote,  "  and  what  was  better  than  all,  it  was 
a  girl,  and  the  Sunday  before  was  baptized  as  Maude 
Matilda  Remington  Blodgett  Hopkins,  there  being  no 
reason,"  she  said,  "  why  she  shouldn't  give  her  child  as 
many  names  as  the  Queen  of  England  hitched  on  to 
hers,  beside  that  it  was  not  at  all  likely  that  she  would 
ever  have  another,  and  so  she  had  improved  this  oppor 
tunity,  and  named  her  daughter  in  honor  of  Maude, 
Matty,  Harry  and  her  first  husband,  Joel.  But,"  she 
wrote,  "  I  don't  know  what  you'll  say  when  I  tell  you 
that  my  old  man  and  some  others  have  made  me  believe 
that  seein'  I've  an  heir  of  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  I 
ought  to  change  that  will  of  mine,  so  I've  made 
another,  and  if  Maude  Matilda  dies  you'll  have  it  yet. 
T'other  five  thousand  is  yours,  any  way,  and  if  I 
didn't  love  the  little  wudget  as  I  do,  I  wouldn't  have 
changed  my  will ;  but  natur  is  natur." 

Scarcely  had  Maude  finished  reading  this  letter  when 


THE  ENGAGEMENT.  115 

J.  C.  came  in,  and  she  handed  it  to  him.  He  did  not 
seem  surprised,  for  he  had  always  regarded  the  will  as 
a  doubtful  matter ;  but  in  reality  he  was  a  little  cha 
grined,  for  five  thousand  was  only  half  as  much  as  ten. 
Still  his  love  for  Maude  was,  as  yet,  stronger  than  his 
love  for  money,  and  he  only  laughed  heartily  at  the 
string  of  names  which  Janet  had  given  to  her  offspring, 
saying,  "  it  was  a  pity  it  hadn't  been  a  boy,  so  she 
could  have  called  him  Jedediah  Cleisfibotham" 

"  He  does  not  care  for  my  money,"  Maude  thought, 
and  her  heart  went  out  toward  him  more  lovingly  than 
it  had  ever  done  before,  and  her  dark  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  when  he  told  her,  as  he  ere  long  did,  that  he 
must  leave  the  next  day  and  return  to  Rochester. 

"  The  little  property  left  me  by  my  mother  needs 
attention,  so  my  agent  writes  me,"  he  said,  "  and  now 
the  will  has  gone  up,  and  we  are  poorer  than  we  were 
before  by  five  thousand  dollars,  it  is  necessary  that  I 
should  bestir  myself,  you  know." 

Maude  could  not  tell  why  it  was  that  his  words 
affected  her  unpleasantly,  for  she  knew  he  was  not 
rich,  and  she  felt  that  she  should  respect  him  more  if 
he  really  did  bestir  himself,  but  still  she  did  not  like 
his  manner  when  speaking  of  the  will,  and  her  heart 
was  heavy  all  the  day.  He,  on  the  contrary,  was  in 
unusually  good  spirits.  He  was  not  tired  of  Maude, 
but  he  was  tired  of  the  monotonous  life  at  Laurel  Hill, 
and  when  his  agent's  summons  came  it  found  him 
ready  to  go.  That  for  which  he  had  visited  Laurel 
Hill,  had  in  reality  been  accomplished.  He  had  secured 
a  wife,  not  Nellie,  but  Maude,  and  determining  to  do 
everything  honorably,  he,  on  the  morning  of  his 
departure,  went  to  the  doctor,  to  whom  he  talked  of 
Maude,  expressing  his  wish  to  marry  her. 


116  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Yery  coldly  the  doctor  answered  that  "  Maude  could 
marry  whom  she  pleased.  It  was  a  maxim  of  his  never 
to  interfere  with  matches,"  and  then,  as  if  the  subject 
were  suggestive,  he  questioned  the  young  man  to  know 
if  in  his  travels  he  had  ever  met  the  lady  Maude  Glen- 
dower.  J.  C.  had  met  her  once  at  Saratoga,  at  New 
port  once,  and  twice  at  the  White  Mountains. 

"  She  was  a  splendid  creature,"  he  said,  and  he  asked 
if  the  doctor  knew  her. 

"  I  saw  her  as  a  child  of  seventeen,  and  again  as  a 
"woman  of  twenty-five.  She  is  forty  now,"  was  the 
doctor's  answer,  as  he  walked  away,  wondering  if  the 
Maude  Glendower  of  to-day  were  greatly  changed  from 
the  Maude  of  fifteen  years  ago. 

To  J.  C.'s  active  mind  a  new  idea  was  presented,  and 
seeking  out  the  other  Maude — his  Maude — he  told  her 
of  his  suspicion.  There  was  a  momentary  pang,  a 
thought  of  the  willow-shaded  grave  where  Kate  and 
Matty  slept,  and  then  Maude  Kemington  calmly  ques 
tioned  J.  C.  of  Maude  Glendower — who  she  was,  and 
where  did  she  live  ? 

J.  C.  knew  but  little  of  the  lady,  but  what  little  he 
knew,  he  told.  She  was  of  both  English  and  Spanish 
descent.  Her  friends,  he  believed,  were  nearly  all 
dead,  and  she  was  alone  in  the  world.  Though  forty 
years  of  age,  she  was  well  preserved,  and  called  a 
wondrous  beauty.  She  was  a  belle — a  flirt — a  spinster, 
and  was  living  at  present  in  Troy,  at  a  fashionable 
boarding-house  on  Second  street,  and  this  was  all  he 
knew. 

"  She'll  never  marry  the  doctor,"  said  Maude,  laugh 
ing,  as  she  thought  of  an  elegant  woman  leaving  the 
world  of  fashion,  to  be  mistress  of  that  house. 

Still  the  idea  followed  her,  and  when  at  last  J.  C. 


THE  ENGAGEMENT.  117 

lad  bidden  her  adieu,  and  gone  to  his  city  home,  she 
frequently  found  herself  thinking  of  the  beautiful 
Maude  Glendower,  whose  name,  it  seemed  to  her,  she 
had  heard  before,  though  when  or  where  she  could  not 
tell.  A  strange  interest  was  awakened  in  her  bosom 
for  the  unknown  lady,  and  she  often  wondered  if  they 
would  ever  meet.  The  doctor  thought  of  her,  too, — 
thought  of  her  often,  and  thought  of  her  long,  and  as 
his  feelings  toward  her  changed,  so  did  his  manner 
soften  toward  the  dark-haired  girl  who  bore  her  name, 
and  who  he  began  at  last  to  fancy  resembled  her  in 
more  points  than  one.  Maude  was  ceasing  to  be  an 
object  of  perfect  indifference  to  him.  She  was  an  en 
gaged  young  lady,  and,  as  such,  entitled  to  more  respect 
than  he  was  wont  to  pay  her,  and  as  the  days  wore  on 
he  began  to  have  serious  thoughts  of  making  her  his 
confidant  and  counselor  in  a  matter  which  he  would 
never  have  entrusted  to  Nellie. 

Accordingly,  one  afternoon,  when  he  found  her 
sitting  upon  the  piazza,  he  said,  first  casting  an  anxious 
glance  around,  to  make  sure  no  one  heard  him  :  "  Maude, 
I  wish  to  see  you  alone  for  a  few  minutes." 

Wonderingly  Maude  followed  him  into  the  parlor, 
where  her  astonishment  was  in  no  wise  diminished  by 
his  shutting  the  blinds,  dropping  the  curtains,  and 
locking  the  door !  Maude  began  to  tremble,  and  when 
he  drew  his  chair  close  to  her  side,  she  started  up, 
asking  to  what  this  was  a  preliminary. 

"  Sit  down — sit  down,"  he  whispered ;  "  I  want  to 
tell  you  something,  which  you  must  never  mention  in 
the  world.  You  certainly  have  some  sense,  or  I  should 
not  trust  you.  Maude,  I  am  going — that  is,  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe — or  rather,  I  should  say  perhaps 
— well,  anyway,  there  is  a  prospect  of  my  being  mar- 


118  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

ried,"  and  by  the  time  this  crisis  was  reached,  the  per 
spiration  was  dropping  fast  from  his  forehead  and  chin. 

"  Married  ! — to  whom  ? "  asked  Maude. 

"  You  are  certain  you'll  never  tell,  and  that  there's 
no  one  in  the  hall,"  said  the  doctor,  going  on  tiptoe  to 
the  door,  and  assuring  himself  there  was  no  one  there. 
Then  returning  to  his  seat,  he  told  her  a  strange  story 
of  a  marvelously  beautiful  young  girl,  with  Spanish 
fire  in  her  lustrous  eyes,  and  a  satin  gloss  on  her  blue- 
black  curls.  Her  name  was  Maude  Glendower,  and 
years  ago  she  won  his  love,  leading  him  on  and  on  until 
at  last  he  paid  her  the  highest  honor  a  man  can  pay  a 
woman — he  offered  her  his  heart,  his  hand,  his  name. 
But  she  refused  him — scornfully,  contemptuously  re 
fused  him,  and  he  learned  afterward  that  she  had 
encouraged  him  for  the  sake  of  bringing  another  man 
to  terms ! — and  that  man,  whose  name  the  doctor  never 
knew,  was  a  college-student  not  yet  twenty-one. 

"  I  hated  her  then,"  said  he,  "  hated  this  Maude 
Glendower,  for  her  deception ;  but  I  could  not  forget 
her,  and  after  Katy  died  I  sought  her  again.  She  was 
the  star  of  Saratoga,  and  no  match  for  me.  This  I  had 
sense  enough  to  see,  so  I  left  her  in  her  glory,  and  three 
years  after  married  your  departed  mother.  Maude 
Glendower  has  never  married,  and  at  the  age  of  forty 
has  come  to  her  senses,  and  signified  her  willingness 
to  become  my  wife, — or,  that  is  to  say,  I  have  been 
informed  by  my  sister  that  she  probably  would  not 
refuse  me  a  second  time.  Now,  Maude  Remington,  I 
have  told  you  this,  because  I  must  talk  with  some  one, 
and  as  I  before  remarked,  you  are  a  girl  of  sense,  and 
will  keep  the  secret.  It  is  a  maxim  of  mine  when  any 
thing  is  to  be  done,  to  do  it,  so  I  shall  visit  Miss  Glen 
dower  immediately,  and  if  I  like  her  well  enough  shall 


THE  ENGAGEMENT.  119 

marry  her  at  once.  Not  while  I  am  gone,  of  course, 
but  very  soon.  I  shall  start  for  Troy  one  week  from 
to-day,  and  I  wish  you  would  attend  a  little  to  my 
wardrobe ;  it's  in  a  most  lamentable  condition.  My 
shirts  are  all  worn  out,  my  coat  is  rusty,  and  last  Sun 
day  I  discovered  a  hole  in  my  pantaloons " 

"  Dr.  Kennedy,"  exclaimed  Maude,  interrupting  him, 
"  you  surely  do  not  intend  to  present  yourself  before 
the  fastidious  Miss  Glendower,  with  those  old  shabby 
clothes.  She  would  say  JVo,  sooner  than  she  did  before. 
You  must  have  an  entire  new  suit.  You  can  afford  it, 
too,  for  you  have  not  had  one  since  mother  died." 

Dr.  Kennedy  was  never  in  a  condition  to  be  so  easily 
coaxed  as  now.  Maude  Glendower  had  a  place  in  his 
heart,  which  no  other  woman  had  ever  held,  and  that 
very  afternoon,  the  village  merchant  was  astonished 
at  the  penurious  doctor's  inquiring  the  prices  of  the 
finest  broadcloth  in  his  store.  It  seemed  a  great  deal 
of  money  to  pay,  but  Maude  Remington  at  his  elbow, 
and  Maude  Glendower  in  his  mind,  conquered  at  last, 
and  the  new  suit  was  bought,  including  vest,  hat,  boots 
and  all.  There  is  something  in  handsome  clothes  very 
satisfactory  to  most  people,  and  the  doctor,  when 
arrayed  in  his,  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  pride  quite 
unusual  to  him.  On  one  point,  however,  he  was 
obstinate,  "  he  would  not  spoil  them  by  wearing  them 
on  the  road,  when  he  could  just  as  well  dress  at  the 
hotel." 

So  Maude,  between  whom'and  himself  there  was  for 
the  time  being  quite  an  amicable  understanding,  packed 
them  nicely  in  his  trunk,  while  Hannah  and  Louis 
looked  on  wondering  what  it  could  mean. 

"  The  Millennial  is  comin',  or  else  he's  goin'  a 
courtin',"  said  Hannah,  and  satisfied  that  she  was  right, 


120  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

she  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  while  Louis,  catching  at 
once  at  her  idea,  began  to  cry,  and  laying  his  head  on 
his  sister's  lap,  begged  of  her  to  tell  him  if  what 
Hannah  had  said  were  true. 

To  him,  it  seemed  like  trampling  on  the  little  grave 
beneath  the  willows,  and  it  required  all  Maude's  powers 
of  persuasion  to  dry  his  tears,  and  soothe  the  pain 
which  every  child  must  feel,  when  first  they  know  that 
the  lost  mother,  whose  memory  they  so  fondly  cherish, 
is  to  be  succeeded  bv  another. 


MAUDE  GLEKDOWER.  121 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MAUDE    GLENDOWER. 

SHE  was  a  most  magnificent  looking  woman,  as  she 
sat  within  her  richly  furnished  room,  on  that  warm 
September  night,  now  gazing  idly  down  the  street,  and 
again  bending  her  head  to  catch  the  first  sound  of 
footsteps  on  the  stairs.  Personal  preservation  had 
been  the  great  study  of  her  life,  and  forty  years  had 
not  dimmed  the  luster  of  her  soft,  black  eyes,  or  woven 
one  thread  of  silver  among  the  luxuriant  curls  which 
clustered  in  such  profusion  around  her  face  and  neck. 
Gray  hairs  and  Maude  Glendower  had  nothing  in 
common,  and  the  fair,  round  cheek,  the  pearly  teeth, 
the  youthful  bloom,  and  white,  uncovered  shoulders, 
seemed  to  indicate  that  time  had  made  an  exception  in 
her  favor,  and  dropped  her  from  its  wheel. 

With  a  portion  of  her  history  the  reader  is  already 
acquainted.  Early  orphaned,  she  was  thrown  upon 
the  care  of  an  old  aunt  who,  proud  of  her  wondrous 
beauty,  spared  no  pains  to  make  her  what  nature 
seemed  to  will  that  she  should  be,  a  coquette  and  a 
belle.  At  seventeen,  we  find  her  a  schoolgirl  in  New 
Haven,  where  she  turned  the  heads  of  all  the  college- 
boys,  and  then  murmured  because  one,  a  dark-eyed 
youth  of  twenty,  withheld  from  her  the  homage  she 
claimed  as  her  just  due.  In  a  fit  of  pique  she  besieged 
a  staid,  handsome  young  M.  D.,  of  twenty-seven^  who 
had  just  commenced  to  practise  in  the  city,  and  who, 
proud  ly  keeping  himself  aloof  from  the  college-students, 


122  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

knew  nothing  of  the  youth  she  so  much  fancied.  Per 
fectly  intoxicated  with  her  beauty,  he  offered  her  his 
hand,  and  was  repulsed.  Overwhelmed  with  disap 
pointment  and  chagrin,  he  then  left  the  city,  and 
located  himself  at  Laurel  Hill,  where  now  we  find  him 
the  selfish,  overbearing  Dr.  Kennedy. 

But  in  after  years  Maude  Glendower  was  punished 
for  that  act.  The  dark-haired  student  she  so  much 
loved  was  wedded  to  another,  and  with  a  festering 
wound  within  her  heart,  she  plunged  at  once  into  the 
giddy  world  of  fashion,  slaying  her  victims  by  scores, 
and  exulting  as  each  new  trophy  of  her  power  was  laid 
at  her  feet.  She  had  no  heart,  the  people  said,  and  with 
a  mocking  laugh  she  thought  of  the  quiet  grave  'mid  the 
New  England  hills,  where,  one  moonlight  night,  two 
weeks  after  that  grave  was  made,  she  had  wept  such 
tears  as  were  never  wept  by  her  again.  Maude 
Glendower  had  loved,  but  loved  in  vain ;  and  now,  at 
the  age  of  forty,  she  was  unmarried  and  alone  in  the 
wide  world.  The  aunt,  who  had  been  to  her  a  mother, 
had  died  a  few  months  before,  and  as  her  annuity 
ceased  with  her  death,  Maude  was  almost  wholly 
destitute.  The  limited  means  she  possessed  would  only 
suffice  to  pay  her  board  for  a  short  time,  and  in  this 
dilemma  she  thought  of  her  old  lover,  and  wondered  if 
he  could  again  be  won.  He  was  rich,  she  had  always 
heard,  and,  as  his  wife,  she  could  still  enjoy  the  luxuries 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  She  knew  his 
sister — they  had  met  in  the  saloons  of  Saratoga,  and 
though  it  hurt  her  pride  to  do  it,  she  at  last  signified 
her  willingness  to  be  again  addressed. 

It  was  many  weeks  ere  Dr.  Kennedy  conquered 
wholly  his  olden  grudge,  but  conquered  it  he  had,  and 
she  sat  expecting  him  on  the  night  when  first  we 


MAUDE  GLEKDOWER.  123 

introduced  her  to  our  readers.  He  bad  arrived  in  Troy 
on  the  western  train,  and  written  her  a  note  announcing 
his  intention  to  visit  her  that  evening.  For  this  visit 
Maude  Glendower  had  arrayed  herself  with  care, 
wearing  a  rich  silk  dress  of  crimson  and  black — colors 
well  adapted  to  her  complexion. 

"  He  saw  me  at  twenty-five.  He  shall  not  think  me 
greatly  changed  since  then,"  she  said,  as  over  her 
bare  neck  and  arms  she  threw  an  exquisitely  wrought 
mantilla  of  lace. 

The  Glendower  family  had  once  been  very  wealthy, 
and  the  last  daughter  of  the  haughty  race  glittered 
with  diamonds  which  had  come  to  her  from  her  great- 
grandmother,  and  had  been  but  recently  reset.  And 
there  she  sat,  beautiful  Maude  Glendower — the  votary 
of  fashion — the  woman  of  the  world — sat  waiting  for 
the  cold,  hard,  overbearing  man,  who  thought  to  make 
her  his  wife.  A  ring  at  the  door,  a  heavy  tread  upon 
the  winding  stairs,  and  the  lady  rests  her  head  upon  her 
hand,  so  that  her  glossy  curls  fall  over,  but  do  riot  con 
ceal  her  white,  rounded  arm,  where  the  diamonds  are 
shining. 

"  I  could  easily  mistake  him  for  my  father,"  she 
thought,  as  a  gray-haired  man  stepped  into  the  room, 
where  he  paused  an  instant,  bewildered  with  the  glare 
of  light  and  the  display  of  pictures,  mirrors,  tapestry, 
rosewood  and  marble,  which  met  his  view. 

"  Mrs.  Berkley,  Maude  Glendower's  aunt,  had 
stinted  herself  to  gratify  her  niece's  whims,  and  their 
surroundings  had  always  been  of  the  most  expensive 
kind,  so  it  was  not  strange  that  Dr.  Kennedy,  accus 
tomed  only  to  ingrain  carpet,  and  muslin  curtains,  was 
dazzled  by  so  much  elegance.  With  a  well  feigned 
start  the  lady  arose  to  her  feet,  and  going  to  his  side 


124  COUSIN  MAUDE 

offered  him  her  hand,  saying  :  "  You  are  Dr.  Kennedy, 
I  am  sure.  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere,  for 
you  are  but  little  changed." 

She  meant  to  flatter  his  self-love,  though  thanks  to 
Maude  Remington  for  having  insisted  upon  the  broad 
cloth  suit,  he  looked  remarkably  well. 

"  She  had  not  changed  at  all,"  he  said,  and  the  ad 
miring  gaze  he  fixed  upon  her  argued  well  for  her 
success. 

It  becomes  us  not  to  tell  how  that  strange  wooing 
sped.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  at  the  expiration  of  an  hour 
Maude  Glendower  had  promised  to  be  the  wife  of  Dr. 
Kennedy,  when  another  spring  should  come.  She  had 
humbled  herself  to  say  that  she  regretted  her  girlish 
freak,  and  he  had  so  far  unbent  his  dignity  as  to  say 
that  he  could  not  understand  why  she  should  be  will 
ing  to  leave  the  luxuries  which  surrounded  her  and  go 
with  him,  a  plain,  old-fashioned  man.  Maude  Glen- 
dower  scorned  to  make  him  think  that  it  was  love 
which  actuated  her,  and  she  replied,  "  Now  that  my 
aunt  is  dead,  I  have  no  natural  protector.  I  am  alone 
and  want  a  home." 

"  But  mine  is  so  different,"  he  said :  "  There  are  no 
silk  curtains  there,  no  carpets  such  as  this " 

"  Is  Maude  Remington  there  ? "  the  lady  asked,  and 
in  her  large  black  eyes  there  was  a  dewy  tenderness, 
as  she  pronounced  that  name. 

"  Maude  Remington  ! — yes,"  the  doctor  answered. 
"  Where  did  you  hear  of  her  ?  My  sister  told  you,  I 
suppose.  Yes,  Maude  is  there.  She  has  lived  with  me 
ever  since  her  mother  died.  You  would  have  liked 
Matty,  I  think,"  and  the  doctor  felt  a  glow  of  satis 
faction  in  having  thus  paid  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
his  wife. 


MAUDE  GLENDOWER.  125 

"  Is  Maude  like  her  mother  ? "  the  lady  asked ;  a 
deeper  glow  upon  her  cheek,  and  the  expression  of  her 
face  evincing  the  interest  she  felt  in  the  answer. 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  the  doctor.  "  Matty  was 
blue-eyed  and  fair,  while  Maude  is  dark,  and  resembles 
her  father,  they  say." 

The  white  jeweled  hands  were  clasped  together  for 
a  moment,  and  then  Maude  Glendower  questioned  him 
of  the  other  one,  Matty's  child  and  his.  Yery  tenderly 
the  doctor  talked  of  his  unfortunate  boy,  telling  of  his 
soft  brown  hair,  his  angel  face  and  dreamy  eyes. 

"  He  is  like  Matty,"  the  lady  said,  more  to  herself 
than  her  companion,  who  proceeded  to  speak  of  Nellie, 
as  a  paragon  of  loveliness  and  virtue.  "  I  shan't  like 
her,  I  know,"  the  lady  thought,  "  but  the  other  two," 
how  her  heart  bounded  at  the  thoughts  of  folding 
them  to  her  bosom. 

Louis  Kennedy,  weeping  that  his  mother  was  for 
gotten,  had  nothing  to  fear  from  Maude  Glendower, 
for  a  child  of  Matty  Remington  was  a  sacred  trust  to 
her,  and  when  as  the  doctor  bade  her  good  night,  he 
said  again,  "  You  will  find  a  great  contrast  between 
your  home  and  mine,"  she  answered,  "I  shall  be  con 
tented  if  Maude  and  Louis  are  there." 

"  And  Nellie,  too,"  the  doctor  added,  unwilling  that 
she  should  be  overlooked. 

"  Yes,  Nellie  too,"  the  lady  answered,  the  expres 
sion  of  her  mouth  indicating  that  Nellie  too,  was  an 
object  of  indifference  to  her. 


The  doctor  is  gone,  his  object  is  accomplished,  and 
at  the  Mansion  House,  near  by,  he  sleeps  quietly  and 
well. 

But  the  lady,  Maude  Glendower,  oh,  who  shall  tell 


126  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

what  bitter  tears  she  wept,  or  how  in  her  inmost  soul 
she  shrank  from  the  man  she  had  chosen.  And  yet 
there  was  nothing  repulsive  in  him,  she  knew.  He  was 
fine-looking,— he  stood  well  in  the  world, — he  was  rich 
while  she  was  poor.  But  not  for  this  alone,  had  she 
promised  to  be  his  wife.  To  hold  Maude  Remington 
within  her  arms,  to  look  into  her  eyes,  to  call  his 
daughter  child,  this  was  the  strongest  reason  of  them 
all.  And  was  it  strange  that  when  at  last  she  slept, 
she  was  a  girl  again,  looking  across  the  college  green 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  one  whose  indifference  had  made 
her  what  she  was,  a  selfish,  scheming  cold-hearted 
woman. 

There  was  another  interview  next  morning,  and  then 
the  doctor  left  her,  but  not  until  with  her  soft  hand  in 
his,  and  her  shining  eyes  upon  his  face,  she  said  to 
him,  "  You  think  your  home  is  not  a  desirable  one  for 
me.  Can't  you  fix  it  up  a  little?  Are  there  two 
parlors,  and  do  the  windows  come  to  the  floor  ?  I  hope 
your  carriage  horses  are  in  good  condition,  for  I  am 
very  fond  of  driving.  Have  you  a  flower  garden  ?  I 
anticipate  much  pleasure  in  working  among  the  plants. 
Oh,  it  will  be  so  cool  and  nice  in  the  country.  You 
have  an  ice-house  of  course." 

Poor  doctor!  Double  parlors — low  windows — ice 
house,  and  flower-garden — he  had  none — while  the  old 
carryall  had  long  since  ceased  to  do  its  duty,  and  its 
place  was  supplied  by  an  open  buggy,  drawn  by  a 
sorrel  nag.  But  Maude  Glen  dower  could  do  with  him 
what  Katy  and  Matty  could  not  have  done,  and  after 
his  return  to  Laurel  Hill,  he  was  more  than  once 
closeted  with  Maude,  to  whom  he  confided  his  plan  of 
improving  the  place,  asking  her  if  she  thought  the 
profits  of  next  year's  crop  of  wheat  and  wool  would 


MAUDE  GLEXDOWER.  127 

meet  the  whole  expense.  Maude  guessed  at  random 
that  it  would,  and,  as  money  in  prospect  seems  not 
quite  so  valuable  as  money  in  hand,  the  doctor  finally 
concluded  to  follow  out  Maude  Glendower's  sugges 
tions,  and  greatly  to  the  surprise  of  the  neighbors,  the 
repairing  process  commenced. 


128  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOW    THE    ENGAGEMENTS    PROSPERED. 

THE  October  sun  had  painted  the  forest  trees  with 
the  gorgeous  tints  of  autumn,  and  the  November  winds 
had  changed  them  to  a  more  sober  hue,  ere  J.  C.  De 
Yere  came  again  to  Laurel  Hill.  Very  regularly  he 
wrote  to  Maude — kind,  loving  letters,  which  helped  to 
cheer  her  solitary  life.  Nellie  still  remained  with  Mrs. 
Kelsey,  and  though  she  had  so  far  forgiven  her  step 
sister  as  to  write  to  her  occasionally,  she  still  cherished 
toward  her  a  feeling  of  animosity  for  having  stolen 
away  her  lover. 

On  his  return  to  Rochester,  J.  C.  De  Vere  had  fully 
expected  that  his  engagement  would  be  the  theme  of 
every  tongue,  and  he  had  prepared  himself  for  the 
attack.  How,  then,  was  he  surprised  to  find  that  no 
one  had  the  least  suspicion  of  it,  though  many  joked 
him  for  having  quarreled  with  Nellie,  as  they  Avere 
sure  he  had  done,  by  his  not  returning  when  she  did. 

Mrs.  Kelsey  had  changed  her  mind,  and  resolved  to 
say  nothing  of  an  affair  which  she  was  sure  would 
never  prove  to  be  serious,  and  the  result  showed  the 
wisdom  of  her  proceeding.  No  one  spoke  of  Maude 
to  J.  C.,  for  no  one  knew  of  her  existence,  and  both 
Mrs.  Kelsey  and  Nellie,  whom  he  frequently  met, 
scrupulously  refrained  from  mentioning  her  name.  At 
first  he  felt  annoyed,  and  more  than  once  was  tempted 
to  tell  of  his  engagement,  but  as  time  wore  on,  and  he 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     129 

"became  more  and  more  interested  in  city  gaieties,  he 
thought  less  frequently  of  the  dark- eyed  Maude,  who, 
with  fewer  sources  of  amusement,  was  each  da.y 
thinking  more  and  more  of  him.  Still,  he  was  sure  he 
loved  her,  and  one  morning  near  the  middle  of 
November,  when  he  received  a  letter  from  her  saying, 
"  I  am  sometimes  very  lonely,  and  wish  that  you  were 
here,"  he  started  up  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  and 
ere  he  was  fully  aware  of  his  own  intentions,  he  found 
himself  ticketed  for  Canandaigua,  and  the  next  morning 
Louis  Kennedy,  looking  from  his  window,  and  watching 
the  daily  stage  as  it  came  slowly  up  the  hill,  screamed 
out,  "  He's  come — he's  come !  " 

A  few  moments  more,  and  Maude  was  clasped  in 
J.  C.'s  arms.  Kissing  her  forehead,  her  cheek,  and 
her  lips,  he  held  her  off  and  looked  to  see  if  she  had 
changed.  She  had,  and  he  knew  it.  Happiness  and 
contentment  are  more  certain  beautifiers  than  the  most 
powerful  cosmetics,  and  under  the  combined  effects  of 
both  Maude  was  greatly  improved.  She  was  happy 
in  her  engagement,  happy  in  the  increased  respect  it 
brought  her  from  her  friends,  and  happy,  too,  in  the 
unusual  kindness  of  her  stepfather.  All  this  was 
manifest  in  her  face,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
J.  C.  told  her  she  was  beautiful. 

"  If  you  only  had  more  manner,  and  your  clothes 
•were  fashionably  made,  you  would  far  excel  the  city 
girls,"  he  said,  a  compliment  which  to  Maude  seemed 
rather  equivocal. 

When  he  was  there  before,  he  had  not  presumed  to 
criticise  her  style  of  dress,  but  he  did  so  now,  quoting 
the  city  belles,  until,  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest, 
Maude  said  to  him,  "  If  you  think  so  much  of  fashion, 
you  ought  not  to  marry  a  country  girl." 


130  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  Pshaw  ! "  returned  J.  C.  "  I  like  you  all  the 
better  for  dressing  as  you  please,  and  still  I  wish  you 
could  acquire  a  little  city  polish,  for  I  don't  care  to 
have  my  wife  the  subject  of  remark.  If  Maude 
Glendower  comes  in  the  spring,  you  can  learn  a  great 
deal  of  her  before  the  twentieth  of  June." 

Maude  colored  deeply,  thinking  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  that  possibly  J.  C.  might  be  ashamed  of  her, 
but  his  affectionate  caresses  soon  drove  all  unpleasant 
impressions  from  her  mind,  and  the  three  days  that  he 
stayed  with  her  passed  rapidly  away.  He  did  not 
mention  the  will,  but  he  questioned  her  of  the  five 
thousand  which  was  to  be  hers  on  her  eighteenth 
birthday,  and  vaguely  hinted  that  he  might  need  it  to 
set  himself  up  in  business.  He  had  made  no  arrange 
ments  for  the  future,  he  said,  there  was  time  enough 
in  the  spring,  and  promising  to  be  with  her  again 
during  the  holidays,  he  left  her  quite  uncertain  as  to 
whether  she  were  glad  he  had  visited  her  or  not. 

The  next  day  she  was  greatly  comforted  by  a  long 
letter  from  James,  who  wrote  occasionally,  evincing  so 
much  interest  in  "  Cousin.  Maude,"  that  he  always 
succeeded  in  making  her  cry,  though  why  she  could 
not  tell,  for  his  letters  gave  her  more  real  satisfaction 
than  did  those  of  J.  C.,  fraught  as  the  latter  were  with 
protestations  of  constancy  and  love.  Slowly  dragged 
the  weeks,  and  the  holidays  were  at  hand,  when  she 
received  a  message  from  J.  C.,  saying  he  could  not 
possibly  come  as  he  had  promised.  No  reason  was 
given  for  this  change  in  his  plan,  and  with  a  sigh  of 
disappointment,  Maude  turned  to  a  letter  from  Nellie, 
received  by  the  same  mail.  After  dwelling  at  length 
upon  the  delightful  time  she  was  having  in  the  city, 
Nellie  spoke  of  a  fancy  ball,  to  be  given  by  her 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     131 

aunt  during  Christmas  week.  Mr.  De  Yere  was  to  be 
Ivanhoe,  she  said,  and  she  to  be  Rowena. 

"You  don't  know,"  she  wrote,  "how  interested  J.  C. 
is  in  the  party.  He  really  begins  to  appear  more  as  he 
used  to  do.  He  has  not  forgotten  you,  though,  for  he 
said  the  other  day  you  would  make  a  splendid  Rebecca. 
It  takes  a  dark  person  for  that,  I  believe  !  " 

Maude  knew  the  reason  now  why  J.  C.  could  not 
possibly  come,  and  the  week  she  had  anticipated  so 
much  seemed  dreary  enough,  notwithstanding  it  was 
enlivened  by  a  box  of  oranges  and  figs  from  her  be 
trothed,  and  a  long,  affectionate  letter  from  James 
De  Vere,  who  spoke  of  the  next  Christmas,  saying 
he  meant  she  should  spend  it  at  Hampton. 

"  You  will  really  be  my  cousin  then,"  he  wrote, 
"  and  I  intend  inviting  yourself  and  husband  to  pass 
the  holidays  with  us.  I  want  my  mother  to  know 
you,  Maude.  She  will  like  you,  I  am  sure,  for  she 
always  thinks  as  I  do." 

This  letter  was  far  more  pleasing  to  Maude's  taste 
than  were  the  oranges  and  figs,  and  Louis  was  suffered 
to  monopolize  the  latter — a  privilege  which  he  ap 
preciated  as  children  usually  do. 

After  the  holidays,  J.  C.  paid  a  flying  visit  to  Laurel 
Hill,  where  his  presence  caused  quite  as  much  pain  as 
pleasure,  so  anxious  he  seemed  to  return.  Rochester 
could  not  well  exist  without  him,  one  would  suppose, 
from  hearing  him  talk  of  the  rides  he  planned,  the  sur 
prise  parties  he  managed,  and  the  private  theatricals  of 
which  he  was  the  leader. 

"Do  they  pay  you  well  for  your  services?"  Louis 
asked  him  once,  when  wearying  of  the  same  old 
story. 

J.  C.  undersood  the  hit,  and  during  the  remainder  of 


132  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

his  stay  was  far  less  egotistical  than  he  would  other 
wise  have  been.  After  his  departure,  there  ensued  an 
interval  of  quiet,  which,  as  spring  approached,  was 
broken  by  the  doctor's  resuming  the  work  of  repairs, 
which  had  been  suspended  during  the  coldest  weather. 
The  partition  between  the  parlor  and  the  large  square 
bedroom  was  removed ;  folding-doors  were  made  be 
tween  ;  the  windows  were  cut  down ;  a  carpet  was 
bought  to  match  the  one  which  Maude  had  purchased 
the  summer  before  ;  and  then,  when  all  was  done,  the 
doctor  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  Hues,  because  it  had 
cost  so  much.  But  he  could  afford  to  be  extravagant 
for  a  wife  like  Maude  Glendower,  and  trusting  much 
to  the  wheat-crop  and  the  wool,  he  started  for  Troy, 
about  the  middle  of  March,  fully  expecting  to  receive 
from  the  lady  a  decisive  answer  as  to  when  she  would 
make  them  both  perfectly  happy! 

With  a  most  winning  smile  upon  her  lip  and  a  be 
witching  glance  in  her  black  eyes,  Maude  Glendower 
took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  begged  for  a  little  longer 
freedom. 

"  Wait  till  next  fall,"  she  said ;  "  I  must  go  to  Saratoga 
one  more  summer.  I  shall  never  be  happy  if  I  don't, 
and  you,  I  dare  say,  wouldn't  enjoy  it  a  bit." 

The  doctor  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  Her  eyes,  her 
voice,  and  the  soft  touch  of  her  hand,  made  him  feel 
very  queer,  and  he  was  almost  willing  to  go  to  Sara 
toga  himself,  if  by  these  means  he  could  secure  her. 

"  How  much  do  they  charge  ? "  he  asked ;  and,  with  a 
flash  of  her  bright  eyes,  the  lady  answered,  "  I  presume 
both  of  us  can  get  along  with  thirty  or  forty  dollars  a 
week,  including  everything ;  but  that  isn't  much,  as  I 
don't  care  to  stay  more  than  two  months ! " 

This  decided  the  doctor.    He  had  not  three  hundred 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     138 

dollars  to  throw  away,  and  so  he  tried  to  persuade  his 
companion  to  give  up  Saratoga  and  go  with  him  to 
Laurel  Hill,  telling  her,  as  an  inducement,  of  the 
improvements  he  had  made. 

"  There  were  two  parlors  now,"  he  said,  "  and  with 
her  handsome  furniture  they  would  look  remarkably 
well." 

She  did  not  tell  him  that  her  handsome  furniture 
was  mortgaged  for  board  and  borrowed  money — neither 
did  she  say  that  her  object  in  going  to  Saratoga  was 
to  try  her  powers  upon  a  rich  old  Southern  bachelor, 
who  had  returned  from  Europe,  and  who  she  knew 
was  to  pass  the  coming  summer  at  the  Springs.  If  she 
could  secure  him,  Dr.  Kennedy  might  console  himself 
as  best  he  could,  and  she  begged  so  hard  to  defer  their 
marriage  until  the  autumn,  that  the  doctor  gave  up 
the  contest,  and,  with  a  heavy  heart,  prepared  to  turn 
his  face  homeward. 

"  You  need  not  make  any  more  repairs  until  I  come, 
I'd  rather  see  to  them  myself,"  Miss  Glendower  said  at 
parting  ;  and  wondering  what  further  improvements  she 
could  possibly  suggest,  now  that  the  parlor  windows 
were  all  right,  the  doctor  bade  her  adieu,  and  started 
for  home. 

Hitherto,  Maude  had  been  his  confidant,  keeping  her 
trust  so  well  that  no  one  at  Laurel  Hill  knew  exactly 
what  his  intentions  were,  and,  as  was  very  natural, 
immediately  after  his  return,  he  went  to  her  for  sym 
pathy  in  his  disappointment.  He  found  her  weeping 
bitterly,  and  ere  he  could  lay  before  her  his  own  griev 
ances,  she  appealed  to  him  for  sympathy  and  aid. 
The  man  to  whom  her  money  was  intrusted,  had 
speculated,  largely,  loaning  some  of  it  out  "West,  at 
twenty  per  cent. — investing  some  in  doubtful  railroad 


134  COUSm  MAUDE. 

stocks,  and  experimenting  with  the  rest,  until,  by  some 
unlucky  chance  he  lost  the  whole,  and,  worse  than  all, 
had  nothing  of  his  own  with  which  to  make  amends. 
In  short,  Maude  was  penniless,  and  J.  C.  De  Yere  in 
despair.  She  had  written  to  him  immediately,  and 
he  had  come,  suggesting  nothing,  offering  no  advice, 
and  saying  nothing  at  first,  except  that  "  the  man 
was  mighty  mean,  and  he  had  never  liked  his  looks." 

After  a  little,  however,  he  rallied  somewhat,  and 
offered  the  consolatory  remark,  that  "  they  were  in  a 
mighty  bad  fix.  I'll  be  honest,"  said  he,  "  and  confess 
that  I  depended  upon  that  money  to  set  me  up  in  busi 
ness.  I  was  going  to  shave  notes,  and  in  order  to  do 
so,  I  must  have  some  ready  capital.  It  cramps  me,"  he 
continued,  "  for,  as  a  married  man,  my  expenses  will 
necessarily  be  more  than  they  now  are." 

"  We  can  defer  our  marriage,"  sobbed  Maude,  whose 
heart  throbbed  painfully  with  every  word  he  uttered. 
"  We  can  defer  our  marriage  awhile,  and  possibly  a 
part  of  my  fortune  may  be  regained — or,  if  you  wish 
it,  I  will  release  }rou  at  once.  You  need  not  wed  a 
penniless  bride,"  and  Maude  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
while  she  awaited  the  answer  to  her  suggestion.  J.  C. 
De  Yere  did  love  Maude  Remington  better  than  any 
one  he  had  ever  seen,  and  though  he  caught  eagerly  at 
the  marriage  deferred,  he  was  not  then  willing  to  give 
her  up,  and,  with  one  of  his  impetuous  bursts,  he  ex 
claimed,  "  I  will  not  be  released,  though  it  may  be 
wise  to  postpone  our  bridal  day  for  a  time,  say  until 
Christmas  next,  when  I  hope  to  be  established  in  busi 
ness,"  and,  touched  by  the  suffering  expression  of  her 
white  face,  he  kissed  her  tears  away,  and  told  her 
how  gladly  he  would  work  for  her,  painting  "  love  in 
a  cottage,"  with  nothing  else  there,  until  he  really 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     135 

made  himself  believe  that  he  could  live  on  bread  and 
water  with  Maude,  provided  she  gave  him  the  lion's 
share ! 

J.  C.'s  great  faults  were  selfishness,  indolence,  and  love 
of  money,  and  Maude's  loss  affected  him  deeply ;  still, 
there  was  no  redress,  and  playfully  bidding  her  "  not  to 
cry  for  the  milkman's  spilled  milk,"  he  left  her  on  the 
very  day  when  Dr.  Kennedy  returned.  Maude  knew 
J.  C.  was  keenly  disappointed ;  that  he  was  hardly 
aware  what  he  was  saying,  and  she  wept  for  him  rather 
than  for  the  money. 

Dr.  Kennedy  could  offer  no  advice — no  comfort.  It 
had  always  been  a  maxim  of  his  not  to  make  that  man 
her  guardian  ;  but  women  would  do  everything  wrong, 
and  then,  as  if  his  own  trials  were  paramount  to  hers, 
he  bored  her  with  the  story  of  his  troubles,  to  which 
she  simply  answered,  "  I  am  sorry  ; "  and  this  was  all 
the  sympathy  either  gained  from  the  other ! 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  Maude  received  a  long 
letter  from  James  De  Yere.  He  had  heard  from  J. 
C.  of  Ms  misfortune,  and  very  tenderly  he  strove  to 
comfort  her,  touching  at  once  upon  the  subject  which 
he  naturally  supposed  lay  heaviest  upon  her  heart. 
The  marriage  need  not  be  postponed,  be  said  :  "  There 
was  room  in  his  house  and  a  place  in  his  own  and  his 
mother's  affections  for  their  "  Cousin  Maude."  She 
could  live  there  as  well  as  not.  Hampton  was  only 
half  an  hour's  ride  from  Rochester,  and  J.  C.,  who  had 
been  admitted  at  the  bar,  could  open  an  office  in  the 
city,  until  something  better  presented. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  set  him  up  in  business  myself,"  he 
wrote.  "  At  all  events,  dear  Maude,  you  need  not  dim 
the  brightness  of  your  eyes  by  tears,  for  all  will  yet  be 
well.  Next  June  shall  see  you  a  bride,  unless  your 


136  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

intended  husband  refuse  ray  offer,  in  which  case  I 
may  divine  something  better." 

"  Noble  man,"  was  Maude's  exclamation,  as  she 
finished  reading  the  letter,  and  if  at  that  moment  the 
two  cousins  rose  up  in  contrast  before  her  mind,  who 
can  blame  her  for  awarding  the  preference  to  him  who 
had  penned  those  lines,  and  who  thus  kindly  strove  to 
remove  from  her  pathway  every  obstacle  to  her  hap 
piness. 

James  De  Yere  was  indeed  a  noble-hearted  man. 
Generous,  kind  and  self-denying,  he  found  his  chief 
pleasure  in  doing  others  good,  and  he  had  written  both 
to  Maude  and  J.  C.  just  as  the  great  kindness  of  his 
heart  had  prompted  him  to  write.  He  did  not  then 
know  that  he  loved  Maude  Remington,  for  he  had 
never  fully  analyzed  the  nature  of  his  feelings  toward 
her.  He  knew  he  admired  her  very  much,  and  when 
he  wrote  the  note  J.  C.  withheld,  he  said  to  himself, 
"  If  she  answers  this,  I  shall  write  again — and  again, 
and  maybe  " — he  did  not  exactly  know  what  lay  be 
yond  the  maybe,  so  he  added,  "  we  shall  be  very  good 
friends." 

But  the  note  was  not  answered,  and  when  his  cousin's 
letter  came,  telling  him  of  the  engagement,  a  sharp, 
quick  pang  shot  through  his  heart,  eliciting  from  him 
a  faint  outcry,  which  caused  his  mother,  who  was 
present,  to  ask  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Only  a  sudden  pain,"  he  answered,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  side. 

"  Pleurisy,  perhaps,"  the  practical  mother  rejoined, 
and  supposing  she  was  right,  he  placed  the  letter  in  his 
pocket,  and  went  out  into  the  open  air.  It  had  grown 
uncomfortably  warm,  he  thought,  while  the  noise  of 
the  falling  fountain  in  the  garden  made  his  head  ache 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     137 

as  it  had  never  ached  before;  and  returning  to  the 
house,  he  sought  his  pleasant  library.  But  not  a 
volume  in  all  those  crowded  shelves  had  power  to  in 
terest  him  then,  and  with  a  strange  disquiet,  he  wan 
dered  from  room  to  room,  until  at  last  as  the  sun  went 
down,  he  laid  his  throbbing  temples  upon  his  pillow, 
and  in  his  feverish  dreams,  saw  again  the  dark-eyed 
Maude  sitting  on  her  mother's  grave,  her  face  upturned 
to  him,  and  on  her  lip  the  smile  that  formed  her  great 
est  beauty. 

The  next  morning  the  headache  was  gone,  and  with 
a  steady  hand  he  wrote  to  his  cousin  and  Maude,  con 
gratulations  which  he  believed  sincere.  That  J.  C. 
was  not  worthy  of  the  maiden  he  greatly  feared,  and 
he  resolved  to  have  a  care  of  the  young  man,  and  try 
to  make  him  what  Maude's  husband  ought  to  be,  and 
when  he  heard  of  her  misfortune,  he  stepped  forward 
with  his  generous  offer,  which  J.  C.  instantly  refused. 

"  He  never  would  take  his  wife  to  live  upon  his  rela 
tives,  he  had  too  much  pride  for  that,  and  the  marriage 
must  be  deferred.  A  few  months  would  make  no 
difference.  Christmas  was  not  far  from  June,  and  by 
that  time  he  could  do  something  for  himself." 

Thus  he  wrote  to  James,  who  mused  long  upon  the 
words,  "  A  few  months  will  make  no  difference,"  think 
ing  within  himself,  "  If  I  were  like  other  men,  and  was 
about  to  marry  Maude,  a  few  months  would  make 
a  good  deal  of  difference,  but  every  one  to  their 
mind." 

Four  weeks  after  this  he  went  one  day  to  Canan- 
daigua  on  business,  and  having  an  hour's  leisure  ere  the 
arrival  of  the  train  which  would  take  him  home,  he 
sauntered  into  the  public  parlor  of  the  hotel.  Near 
the  window,  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the  room, 


138  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

a  young  girl  was  looking  out  upon  the  passers-by. 
Something  in  her  form  and  dress  attracted  his  atten 
tion,  and  he  was  approaching  the  spot  where  she  stood, 
when  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  caught  her  ear,  and 
turning  round  she  disclosed  to  view  the  features  of 
Maude  Remington. 

"  Maude !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  this  is  indeed  a  surprise. 
I  must  even  claim  a  cousin's  right  to  kiss  yon,"  and 
taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  he  kissed  her  blushing 
cheek — coyly — timidly — for  James  De  Vere  was  unused 
to  such  things,  and  not  quite  certain,  whether  under 
the  circumstances  it  were  perfectly  proper  for  him  to 
do  so  or  not. 

Leading  her  to  the  sofa,  he  soon  learned  that  she  had 
come  to  the  village  to  trade,  and  having  finished  her 
shopping  was  waiting  for  her  stepfather,  who  had  ac 
companied  her. 

"  And  what  of  J.  C.  ? "  he  asked  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "  Has  he  been  to  visit  you  more  than  once  since 
the  crisis,  as  he  calls  it  ?  " 

Maude's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  for  J.  C.'s  conduct 
was  not  wholly  satisfactory  to  her.  She  remembered 
his  loud  protestations  of  utter  disregard  for  her  money, 
and  she  could  not  help  thinking  how  little  his  theory 
and  practise  accorded.  He  had  not  been  to  see  her 
since  his  flying  visit  in  March,  and  though  he  had 
written  several  times,  his  letters  had  contained  little 
else  save  complaints  against  their  "  confounded  luck." 
She  could  not  tell  this  to  James  De  Yere,  and  she  re 
plied,  "  He  is  very  busy  now,  I  believe,  in  trying  to 
make  some  business  arrangement  with  the  lawyer  in 
whose  office  he  formerly  studied." 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  roused  himself  at  last,"  answered 
James,  "  he  would  not  accept  my  offer,  for  which  I  am 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     139 

sorry,  as  I  was  anticipating  much  happiness  in  having 
my  Cousin  Maude  at  Hampton  during  the  summer. 
You  will  remain  at  home,  I  suppose." 

"  No,"  said  Maude,  hesitatingly,  u  or  that  is  I  have 
serious  thoughts  of  teaching  school,  as  I  do  not  like  to 
be  dependent  on  Dr.  Kennedy. 

James  De  Yere  had  once  taught  school  for  a  few 
weeks,  by  way  of  experiment,  and  now  as  he  recalled 
the  heated  room,  the  stifling  atmosphere,  the  constant 
care,  and  more  than  all,  the  noisy  shout  of  triumph 
which  greeted  his  ear  on  that  memorable  morning, 
when  he  found  himself  fastened  out,  and  knew  his  rule 
was  at  an  end,  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  Maude's 
being  exposed  to  similar  indignities,  and  used  all  his 
powers  of  eloquence  to  dissuade  her  from  her  plan. 
Maude  was  frank,  open-hearted  and  impulsive,  and 
emboldened  by  James'  kind,  brotherly  manner,  she 
gave  in  a  most  childlike  way,  her  reason  for  wishing 
to  teach. 

"  If  I  am  married  next  winter,"  she  said,  "  my  ward 
robe  will  need  replenishing,  for  J.  C.  would  surely  be 
ashamed  to  take  me  as  I  am,  and  I  have  now  no  means 
of  my  own  for  purchasing  anything." 

In  an  instant  James  De  Yere's  hand  was  on  his 
purse,  but  ere  he  drew  it  forth  he  reflected  that  to 
offer  money  then  might  possibly  be  out  of  place,  so  he 
said,  "  I  have  no  sister,  no  girl-cousin,  no  wife,  and 
more  money  than  I  can  use,  and  when  the  right  time 
comes  nothing  can  please  me  more  than  to  give  you 
your  bridal  outfit.  May  I,  Maude  ?  And  if  you  do 
not  like  to  stay  with  Dr.  Kennedy,  come  to  Hampton 
this  summer  and  live  with  us,  will  you  Maude  ?  I 
want  you  there  so  much,"  and  in  the  musical  tones  of 
his  voice  there  was  a  deep  pathos  which  brought  the 


140  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

tears  in  torrents  from  Maude's  eyes,  while  she  declined 
the  generous  offer  she  could  not  accept. 

Just  then  Dr.  Kennedy  appeared,  he  was  ready  to 
go,  he  said,  and  bidding  Mr.  De  Vere  good-by,  Maude 
was  soon  on  her  way  home,  her  spirits  lighter  and  her 
heart  happier  for  that  chance  meeting  at  the  Hotel. 
One  week  later  Mr.  De  Vere  wrote  to  her,  saying  that 
if  she  still  wished  to  teach,  she  could  have  the  school 
at  Hampton.  He  had  seen  the  trustees,  had  agreed 
upon  the  price,  and  had  even  selected  her  a  boarding 
place  near  by. 

"  I  regret,"  said  he,  "  that  we  live  so  far  from  the 
schoolhouse  as  to  render  it  impossible  for  you  to  board 
with  us.  You  might  ride,  I  suppose,  and  I  would 
cheerfully  carry  you  every  day  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  I 
think  you  had  better  stop  with  Mrs.  Johnson." 

This  letter  Maude  took  at  once  to  her  brother,  from 
whom  she  had  hitherto  withheld  her  intention  to  teach, 
as  she  did  not  wish  to  pain  him  unnecessarily  with  the 
dread  of  a  separation,  which  might  never  be.  Deeply 
had  he  sympathized  with  her  in  her  misfortune,  whisper 
ing  to  her  that  two-thirds  of  his  own  inheritance  should 
be  hers. 

"  I  can  coax  almost  anything  from  father,"  he  said, 
"  and  when  I  am  twenty -one,  I'll  ask  him  to  give  me 
my  portion,  and  then  I'll  take  you  to  Europe.  You 
won't  be  old,  Maude,  only  twenty -seven,  and  I  shall  be 
proud  when  the  people  say  that  beautiful  woman  with 
eyes  like  stars  is  the  crippled  artist's  sister ! " 

In  all  his  plans  he  made  no  mention  of  J.  0.,  whose 
conduct  he  despised,  and  whose  character  he  began  to 
read  aright. 

"  Maude  will  never  marry  him,  I  hope,"  he  thought, 
and  when  she  brought  to  him  the  letter  from  James 


HOW  THE  ENGAGEMENTS  PROSPERED.     141 

De  Yere,  the  noble  little  fellow  conquered  his  own 
feelings,  and  with  a  hopeful  heart  as  to  the  result  of 
that  summer's  teaching,  he  bade  her  go.  So  it  was  all 
arranged,  and  the  next  letter  which  went  from  Maude 
to  J.  C.  carried  the  intelligence  that  his  betrothed  was 
going  "  to  turn  country  school-ma'am,  and  teach  the 
Hampton  brats  their  A  B  C's,"  so  at  last  he  said  to 
Mrs.  Kelsey  and  her  niece,  between  whom  and  himself 
there  was  a  perfectly  good  understanding,  and  to  whom 
he  talked  of  his  future  prospects  without  reserve.  Mrs. 
Kelsey  was  secretly  delighted,  for  matters  were  shaping 
themselves  much  as  she  would  wish.  Her  brother 
evinced  no  particular  desire  to  have  his  daughter  at 
home,  and  she  determined  to  keep  her  as  long  as  there 
was  the  slightest  chance  of  winning  J.  C.  De  Yere. 
He  was  now  a  regular  visitor  at  her  house,  and,  lest  he 
should  suspect  her  design,  she  spoke  often  and  re 
spectfully  of  Maude,  whose  cause  she  seemed  to  have 
espoused,  and  when  he  came  to  her  with  the  news  of 
her  teaching,  she  sympathized  with  him  at  once. 

"It  would  be  very  mortifying,"  she  said,  "to  marry 
a  district  schoolmistress,  though  there  was  some  com 
fort  in  knowing  that  his  friends  were  as  yet  ignorant 
of  the  engagement." 

"  Let  them  remain  so  a  while  longer,"  was  the  hasty 
answer  of  J.  C.,  who,  as  time  passed  on,  became  more 
and  more  unwilling  that  the  gay  world  should  know  of 
his  engagement  with  one  who  was  not  an  heiress  after 
all. 


142  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HAMPTON. 

Six  happy  weeks  Maude  had  been  a  teacher,  and 
though  she  knew  J.  C.  did  not  approve  her  plan,  she 
was  more  than  repaid  for  his  displeasure  by  the  words 
of  encouragement  which  James  always  had  in  store 
for  her.  Many  times  had  she  been  to  the  handsome 
home  of  the  De  Veres,  and  the  lady-mother,  whom 
she  at  first  so  much  dreaded  to  meet,  had  more  than 
once  stroked  her  silken  curls,  calling  her  "  my  child," 
as  tenderly  as  if  she  did  indeed  bear  that  relation  to 
her.  James  De  Yefe  was  one  of  the  trustees,  and  in 
that  capacity  he  visited  the  school  so  often,  that  the 
wise  villagers  shook  their  heads  significantly,  saying, 
"  if  he  were  any  other  man  they  should  think  the  rights 
of  J.  C.  were  in  danger." 

The  young  schoolmistress's  engagement  with  the 
fashionable  Jedediah  was  generally  known,  and  thus 
were  the  public  blinded  to  the  true  state  of  affairs. 
Gradually,  James  De  Yere  had  learned  how  dear  to 
him  was  the  dark-eyed  girl  he  called  his  "  Cousin 
Maude."  There  was  no  light  like  that  which  shone  in 
her  truthful  eyes — no  music  so  sweet  as  the  sound  of 
her  gentle  voice — no  presence  which  brought  him  so 
much  joy  as  hers — no  being  in  the  world  he  loved  so 
well.  But  she  belonged  to  another — the  time  had 
passed  when  she  might  have  been  won.  She  could 
never  be  his,  he  said ;  and  with  his  love  he  waged  a 


HAMPTON.  143 

mighty  battle — a  battle  which  lasted  days  and  nights, 
wringing  from  him  more  than  one  bitter  moan,  as, 
with  his  face  bowed  in  his  hands,  he  murmured  sadly, 
the  mournful  words,  " It  might  have  been" 

Yes,  it  might  have  been  ;  it  could  be  still ;  but  this  he 
did  not  know.  He  knew  J.  C.  was  fickle  in  most  mat 
ters,  but  he  did  not  deem  it  possible  that,  having  loved 
Maude  Remington  once,  he  could  cease  from  loving  her  ; 
neither  did  he  understand  why  her  eyes  drooped  so  oft 
beneath  his  gaze,  or  why  the  color  always  deepened  on 
her  cheek  when  he  was  near.  Maude,  too,  was  waking 
up,  and  the  schoolhouse  witnessed  more  than  one  fierce 
struggle  between  her  duty  and  her  inclinations  ;  for, 
with  woman's  tact,  she  knew  that  she  was  not  indif 
ferent  to  James  De  Yere ;  but  she  was  plighted  to 
another,  and  if  he  bade  her  keep  her  word,  she  would 
do  so,  even  though  it  broke  her  heart. 

Matters  were  in  this  condition  when  J.  C.  came  one 
day  to  Hampton,  accompanied  by  some  city  friends, 
among  whom  were  a  few  young  ladies  of  the  Kelsey 
order.  Maude  saw  them  as  they  passed  the  school- 
house  in  the  village  omnibus  ;  saw,  too,  how  resolutely 
J.  C.'s  head  was  turned  away,  as  if  afraid  their  eyes 
would  meet. 

"  He  wishes  to  show  his  resentment,  but  of  course 
he'll  visit  me  ere  he  returns,"  she  thought.  And  many 
times  that  day  she  cast  her  eyes  in  the  direction  of 
Hampton  Park,  as  the  De  Yere  residence  was  often 
called. 

But  she  looked  in  vain,  and  with  a  feeling  of  disap 
pointment  she  dismissed  her  school,  and  glad  to  be 
alone,  laid  her  head  upon  the  desk,  falling  ere  long 
asleep,  for  the  day  was  warm,  and  she  was  very  tired. 
So  quietly  she  slept  that  she  did  not  hear  the  roll  of 


144  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

wheels,  nor  the  sound  of  merry  voices,  as  the  party 
from  the  city  rode  by  on  their  way  to  the  depot. 
Neither,  half  an  hour  later,  did  she  hear  the  hasty  foot 
step  which  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  door ;  but  when 
a  hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  and  a  well-known 
voice  bade  her  awake,  she  started  up,  and  saw  before 
her  James  De  Yere.  He  had  been  to  her  boarding- 
place,  he  said,  and  not  finding  her  there,  had  sought 
her  in  the  schoolhouse. 

"  I  have  two  letters  for  you,"  he  continued,  "  one 
from  your  brother,  and  one  from  J.  C." 

"  From  J.  C. !  "  she  repeated.  "  Has  he  gone  back  ? 
"Why  didn't  he  call  on  me  ? " 

"  He's  a  villain,"  thought  James  De  Yere,  but  he  an 
swered  simply,  "  he  had  not  time,  and  so  wrote  you  in 
stead,"  and  sitting  down  beside  her,  he  regarded  her 
with  a  look  in  which  pity,  admiration,  and  love  were 
all  blended — the  former  predominating  at  that  moment, 
and  causing  him  to  lay  his  hand  caressingly  on  her 
forehead,  saying,  as  he  did  so,  "  Your  head  aches,  don't 
it,  Maude  2 " 

Maude's  heart  was  already  full,  and  at  this  little  act  of 
sympathy,  she  burst  into  tears,  while  James,  drawing 
her  to  his  side,  and  resting  her  head  upon  his  bosom, 
soothed  her  as  he  would  have  done  had  she  been  his 
only  sister.  He  fancied  that  he  knew  the  cause  of  her 
grief  and  his  heart  swelled  with  indignation  toward 
J.  C.,  who  had  that  day  shown  himself  unworthy  of  a 
girl  like  Maude.  He  had  come  to  Hampton  without  any 
definite  idea  as  to  whether  he  should  see  her  or  not  ere 
his  return,  but  when,  as  the  omnibus  drew  near  the 
schoolhouse,  and  Maude  was  plainly  visible  through  the 
open  window,  one  of  the  ladies  made  some  slighting 
remark  concerning  school-teachers  generally,  he  de- 


HAMPTON.  145 

termined  not  to  hazard  an  interview,  and  quieted  his 
conscience  by  thinking  he  would  come  out  in  a  few  days 
and  make  the  matter  right.  How  then  was  he  chagrined 
when  in  the  presence  of  his  companions,  his  cousin  said  : 
"  Shall  I  send  for  Miss  Remington  ?  She  can  dismiss 
her  school  earlier  than  usual,  and  come  up  to  tea." 

"  Dismiss  her  school  ? "  cried  one  of  the  young  ladies, 
while  the  other,  the  proud  Miss  Thayer,  whose  grand 
father  was  a  pedler  and  whose  great-uncle  had  been  hung 
exclaimed,  "  Miss  Remington  !  Pray  who  is  she  ? 
That  schoolmistress  we  saw  in  passing?  Really  Mr. 
De  Yere,  you  have  been  careful  not  to  tell  us  of  this 
new  acquaintance.  Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  "  and 
the  diamonds  on  her  fingers  shone  brightly  in  the  sun 
shine  as  she  playfully  pulled  a  lock  of  J.  C.'s  hair. 

The  disconcerted  J.  C.  was  about  stammering  out 
some  reply,  when  James,  astonished  both  at  the  ap 
parent  ignorance  of  his  guests,  and  the  strangeness  of 
his  cousin's  manner,  answered  for  him,  "  Miss  Reming 
ton  is  our  teacher,  and  a  splendid  girl.  J.  C.  became 
acquainted  with  her  last  summer  at  Laurel  Hill.  She 
is  a  stepsister  of  Miss  Kennedy,  whom  you  probably 
know." 

"  Nellie  Kennedy's  stepsister  !  I  never  knew  there 
was  such  a  being,"  said  Miss  Thayer,  while  young 
Robinson,  a  lisping,  insipid  dandy,  drawled  out,  "  A 
sthoolmarm,  J.  Thee  ?  It'h  really  romantic  !  Thend 
for  her  of  courth.  A  little  dithipline  won't  hurt  any  of 
nth." 

J.  C.  made  a  faint  effort  to  rally,  but  they  joked  him 
so  hard  that  he  remained  silent,  while  James  regarded 
him  with  a  look  of  cool  contempt  sufficiently  indicative 
of  his  opinion. 

At  last  when  Miss  Thayer  asked,  "  if  the  bridal  day 


146  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

were  fixed,"  he  roused  himself,  and  thinking  if  he  told 
the  truth  he  should  effectually  deceive  them,  he  an 
swered,  "  Yes,  next  Christinas  is  the  time  appointed. 
We  were  to  have  been  married  in  June,  but  the  lady 
lost  her  fortune,  and  the  marriage  was  deferred." 

"  Oh,  teaching  to  purchase  her  bridal  trousseau.  I'm 
dying  to  see  it,"  laughingly  replied  Miss  Thayer,  while 
another  rejoined,  "  Lost  her  fortune.  Was  she  then  an 
heiress? " 

"  Yes,  a  milkman's  heiress,"  said  J.  C.,  with  a  slightly 
scornful  emphasis  on  the  name  which  he  himself  had 
given  to  Maude,  at  a  time  when  a  milkman's  money 
seemed  as  valuable  to  him  as  that  of  any  other  man. 

There  was  a  dark,  stern  look  on  the  face  of  James 
De  Yere,  and  as  Miss  Thayer,  the  ruling  spirit  of  the 
party,  had  an  eye  on  him  and  his  broad  lands,  she 
deemed  it  wise  to  change  the  conversation  from  the 
"  Milkman's  Heiress  "  to  a  topic  less  displeasing  to  their 
handsome  host.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  the 
cousins  were  alone  for  a  few  moments,  when  the  elder 
demanded  of  the  other  :  "  Do  you  pretend  to  love 
Maude  Kemington,  and  still  make  light  both  of  her 
and  your  engagement  with  her." 

"  I  pretend  to  nothing  which  is  not  real,"  was  J.  C.'s 
haughty  answer ;  "  but  I  do  dislike  having  my  matters 
canvassed  by  every  silly  tongue,  and  have  consequently 
kept  my  relation  to  Miss  Kemington  a  secret.  I  cannot 
see  her  to-day,  but  with  your  permission  I  will  pen  a 
few  lines  by  way  of  explanation,"  and,  glad  to  escape 
from  the  rebuking  glance  he  knew  he  so  much  deserved, 
he  stepped  into  his  cousin's  library,  where  he  wrote  the 
note  James  gave  to  Maude. 

Under  some  circumstances  it  would  have  been  a  very 
unsatisfactory  message,  but  with  her  changed  feelings 


HAMPTON.  147 

toward  the  writer,  and  James  De  Yere  sitting  at  her 
side,  she  scarcely  noticed  how  cold  it  was,  and  throw 
ing  it  down,  tore  open  Louis's  letter  which  had  come  in 
the  evening  mail.  It  was  very  brief,  and  hastily  pe 
rusing  its  contents,  Maude  cast  it  from  her  with  a  cry 
of  horror  and  disgust — then  catching  it  up,  she  moaned, 
"  Oh,  must  I  go  !— I  can't !  I  can't !  " 

"  What  is  it  1 "  asked  Mr.  De  Yere,  and  pointing  to 
the  lines,  Maude  bade  him  read. 

He  did  read,  as  he  read,  his  own  cheek  blanched,  and 
he  wound  his  arm  closely  round  the  maiden's  waist  as 
if  to  keep  her  there,  and  thus  save  her  from  danger. 
Dr.  Kennedy  had  the  smallpox,  so  Louis  wrote,  and 
Nellie, Avho  had  been  home  for  a  few  days,  had  fled  in 
fear  back  to  the  city.  Hannah,  too,  had  gone,  and  there 
was  no  one  left  to  care  for  the  sick  man,  save  John  and 
the  almost  helpless  Louis. 

"Father  is  so  sick,"  he  wrote,  "and  he  says,  tell 
Maude  for  humanity's  sake  to  come." 

If  there  was  one  disease  more  than  another  of  which 
Maude  stood  in  mortal  fear,  it  was  the  smallpox,  and 
her  first  impulse  was,  "  I  will  not  go."  But  when  she 
reflected  that  Louis,  too,  might  take  it,  and  need  her 
care,  her  resolution  changed,  and  moving  away  from 
her  companion,  she  said  firmly,  "  I  must  go,  for  if  any 
thing  befall  my  brother,  how  can  I  answer  to  our  mo 
ther  for  having  betrayed  my  trust.  Dr.  Kennedy,  too, 
was  her  husband,  and  he  must  not  be  left  to  die  alone." 

Mr.  De  Yere  was  about  to  expostulate,  but  she  pre 
vented  him  by  saying,  "  Do  not  urge  me  to  stay,  but 
rather  help  me  to  go,  for  I  must  leave  Hampton  to 
morrow.  You  will  get  some  one  to  take  my  place,  as 
1,  of  course,  shall  not  return,  and  if  I  have  it " 

Here  she  paused,  while  the  trembling  of  her  body 


-  148  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

showed  how  terrible  to  her  was  the  dread  of  the 
disease. 

"  Maude  Remington,"  said  Mr.  De  Vere  struck  with 
admiration  by  her  noble,  self-sacrificing  spirit,  "  I 
will  not  bid  you  stay,  for  I  know  it  would  be  useless, 
but  if  that  which  you  so  much  fear  comes  upon  you, 
if  the  face  now  so  fair  to  look  upon  be  marred  and 
disfigured  until  not  a  lineament  is  left  of  the  once  beau 
tiful  girl,  come  back  to  me.  I  will  love  you  all  the 
same." 

As  he  spoke,  he  stretched  his  arms  involuntarily  to 
ward  her,  and  scarce  knowing  what  she  did,  she  went 
forward  to  the  embrace.  Yery  lovingly  he  folded  her 
for  a  moment  to  his  bosom,  then  turning  her  face  to 
the  fading  sunlight  which  streamed  through  the  dingy 
window,  he  looked  at  it  wistfully  and  long,  as  if  he 
would  remember  every  feature.  Pushing  back  the 
silken  curls  which  clustered  around  her  forehead,  he 
kissed  her  twice,  and  then  releasing  her,  said  :  "  Forgive 
me,  Maude,  if  I  have  taken  more  than  a  cousin's  lib 
erty  with  you,  I  could  not  help  it." 

Bewildered  at  his  words  and  manner,  Maude  raised 
her  eyes  wonderingly  to  his,  and  looking  into  the  shin 
ing  orbs,  he  thought  how  soft,  how  beautiful  they  were, 
but  little,  little  did  he  dream  their  light  would  e'er  be 
quenched  in  midnight  darkness.  Awhile  longer  they 
talked  together,  Mr.  De  Yere  promising  to  send  a  ser 
vant  to  take  her  home  in  the  morning.  Then,  as  the 
sun  had  set,  and  the  night  shadows  were  deepening  in 
the  room,  they  bade  each  other  good-by,  and  ere  the 
next  day's  sun  was  very  high  in  the  heavens,  Maude 
was  far  on  her  way  to  Laurel  Hill. 


THE  DARK  HOUR.  149 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

THE    DARK    HOUR. 

DR.  KENNEDY  had  been  to  Buffalo,  and  taken  the 
smallpox,  so  his  attending  physician  said,  and  the  news 
spread  rapidly,  frightening  nervous  people  as  they 
never  were  frightened  before.  Nellie  had  been  home 
for  a  week  or  two,  but  at  the  first  alarm  she  fled,  rush 
ing  headlong  through  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs, 
unmindful  of  the  tremulous  voice,  which  cried  implor 
ingly,  "  Don't  leave  me,  daughter,  to  die  alone !  " 

Hannah  followed  next,  holding  the  camphor  bottle 
to  her  nose,  and  saying  to  John  when  he  expostulated 
with  her,  "  I  reckon  I'se  not  gwine  to  spile  what  little 
beauty  I've  got  with  that  fetched  complaint." 

"  But,  mother,"  persisted  John,  "  may  be  it's  nothin' 
but  vary-o-lord  after  all,  and  that  don't  mark  folks,  you 
know." 

"You  needn't  talk  to  me  about  your  very-o-lord" 
returned  Hannah,  "/know  it's  the  very  very-o-devil 
himself,  and  I  won't  have  them  pock-ed  marks  on  me 
for  all  the  niggers  in  Virginny." 

"  Then  go,"  said  John,  "  hold  tight  to  the  camphire, 
and  run  for  your  life,  or  it  may  cotch  you  before  you 
git  out  of  the  house." 

Hannah  needed  no  second  bidding  to  run,  and  half 
an  hour  later  she  was  domesticated  with  a  colored 
family,  who  lived  not  far  from  the  Hill.  Thus  left  to 
themselves,  Louis  and  John,  together  with  the  physi 
cian,  did  what  they  could  for  the  sick  man,  who  at  last 


150  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

proposed  sending  for  Maude,  feeling  intuitively  that 
she  would  not  desert  him  as  his  own  child  had  done. 
Silent,  desolate  and  forsaken  the  old  house  looked  as 
Maude  approached  it,  and  she  involuntarily  held  her 
breath  as  she  stepped  into  the  hall,  whose  close  air 
seemed  laden  with  infection.  She  experienced  no  dif 
ficulty  in  finding  the  sick  room,  where  Louis'  cry  of 
delight,  John's  expression  of  joy,  and  the  sick  man's 
whispered  words,  "  God  bless  you,  Maude,"  more  than 
recompensed  her  for  the  risk  she  had  incurred.  Grad 
ually  her  fear  subsided,  particularly  when  she  learned 
that  it  was  in  fact  the  varioloid.  Had  it  been  possible 
to  remove  her  brother  from  danger,  she  would  have 
done  so,  but  it  was  too  late  now,  and  she  suffered  him 
to  share  her  vigils,  watching  carefully  for  the  first 
symptoms  of  the  disease  in  him. 

In  this  manner  nearly  two  weeks  passed  away,  and 
the  panic-striken  villagers  were  beginning  to  breathe 
more  freely,  when  it  was  told  them  one  day  that  Maude 
and  Louis  were  both  smitten  with  the  disease.  Then 
indeed  the  more  humane  said  to  themselves,  "  Shall 
they  be  left  to  suffer  alone  ?  "  and  still  no  one  was 
found  who  dared  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  sick  room. 
Dr.  Kennedy  was  by  this  time  so  much  better  that 
Louis  was  taken  to  his  apartment,  where  he  ministered 
to  him  himself,  while  the  heroic  Maude  was  left  to  the 
care  of  John.  Everything  he  could  do  for  her  he  did, 
but  his  heart  sunk  within  him  when  he  saw  how  fast 
her  fever  came  on,  and  heard  her,  in  her  sleep,  mourn 
for  her  mother,  to  hold  her  aching  head. 

"  She  mustn't  die,"  he  said,  and  over  his  dark  skin 
the  tears  rolled  like  rain,  as  raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceil 
ing,  he  cried  imploringly,  "  Will  the  good  Father  send 
some  one  to  help  ? " 


THE  DARK  HOUR.  151 

The  prayer  of  the  weak  African  was  heard  ;  and,  ere 
the  sun  went  down,  a  man  of  noble  mien  and  noble 
heart  stood  at  the  maiden's  bedside,  bathing  her 
swollen  face,  pushing  back  her  silken  curls,  counting 
her  rapid  pulses,  and  once,  when  she  slept,  kissing  her 
parched  lips,  e'en  though  he  knew  that  with  that  kiss 
he  inhaled,  perhaps,  his  death !  James  De  Yere  had 
never,  for  a  day,  lost  sight  of  Maude.  Immediately 
after  her  return  he  had  written  to  the  physician,  re 
questing  a  daily  report,  and  when,  at  last,  he  learned 
that  she  was  ill,  and  all  alone,  he  came  unhesitatingly, 
presenting  a  striking  contrast  to  the  timid  J.  C.,  who 
had  heard  of  her  illness,  and,  at  first,  dared  not  open 
the  letter  which  his  cousin  wrote,  apprising  him  of 
Maude's  affliction.  But  when  he  reflected  that  he 
could  be  re- vaccinated,  and  thus  avert  the  dreaded  evil, 
he  broke  the  seal,  and  read,  commenting  as  follows  : 
"  Jim  is  a  splendid  fellow,  though  I  can't  see  why  he 
takes  so  much  interest  in  her.  Don't  I  have  con 
founded  luck  though  ?  That  will  first,  the  five  thou 
sand  dollars  next,  and  now  the  smallpox,  too.  Of 
course  she'll  be  marked,  and  look  like  a  fright.  Poor 
girl!  I'd  help  her  if  I  could,"  and,  as  the  better 
nature  of  J.  C.  came  over  him,  he  added,  mournfully  : 
"  What  if  she  should  die  ?  " 

But  Maude  did  not  die  ;  and  at  the  expiration  of  ten 
days  she  was  so  far  out  of  danger  that  James  De  Yere 
yielded  to  the  importunity  of  his  mother,  who,  in  an 
agony  of  terror,  besought  him  to  return.  When  first 
he  came  to  her  bedside,  Maude  had  begged  of  him  to 
leave  her,  and  not  risk  his  life  in  her  behalf ;  but  he 
silenced  her  objections  then,  and  now  when  he  bade 
her  adieu,  he  would  not  listen  to  her  protestations  of 
gratitude. 


152  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  I  would  do  even  more  for  you  if  I  could,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  varioloid,  and  henceforth  I 
shall  think  gratefully  of  it  for  having  dealt  so  lightly 
with  you." 

So  saying,  he  turned  away,  feeling  happier  than  he 
could  well  express,  that  Maude  had  not  only  escaped 
from  death,  but  that  there  would  be  no  marks  left  to 
tell  how  near  the  ravager  had  been.  Scarcely  had  the 
door  closed  on  him,  when,  emboldened  by  his  last 
words  to  ask  a  question  she  greatly  wished,  yet 
dreaded  to  ask,  Maude  turned  to  John  and  said,  "  Am 
I  much  pitted  ?  " 

Rolling  up  his  eyes,  and  wholly  mistaking  her  mean 
ing,  John  replied,  "  I  ain't  no  great  of  a  physiognomer, 
but  when  a  thing  is  as  plain  as  day,  I  can  discern  it  as 
well  as  the  next  one,  and  if  that  ar'  chap  hain't  pitied 
you,  and  done  a  heap  more'n  that,  I'm  mistaken." 

"  But,"  continued  Maude,  smiling  at  his  simplicity, 
"  I  mean  shall  I  probably  be  scarred  ? " 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  not  a  scar,"  answered  John,  "  for 
don't  you  mind  how  he  kep'  the  iled  silk  and  wet  rags 
on  yer  face,  and  how  that  night  when  you  was  sickest, 
he  held  yer  hands  so  you  couldn't  tache  that  little 
feller  between  yer  eyes.  That  was  the  spunkiest  var 
mint  of  'em  all,  and  may  leave  a  mark  like  the  one 
under  yer  ear,  but  it  won't  spile  yer  looks  an  atom." 

"  And  Louis  ? "  said  Maude,  "  is  he  disfigured  ?  " 

"  Not  a  disfigurement,"  returned  John,  "  but  the  ole 
governor,  he's  a  right  smart  sprinklin'  of  'em,  one 
squar'  on  the  tip  of  his  nose,  and  five  or  six  more  on 
his  face." 

Thus  relieved  of  her  immediate  fears,  Maude  asked 
many  questions  concerning  Louis,  who  she  learned  had 
not  been  very  sick. 


THE  DARK  HOUR.  153 

"  You  can  see  him  afore  long  I  reckon,"  said  John, 
and  in  a  few  days  she  was  able  to  join  him  in  the  sit 
ting-room  below. 

After  a  little  Hannah  returned  to  her  post  of  duty, 
her  beauty  unimpaired  and  herself  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  having  thus  heartlessly  deserted  her  master's  family 
in  their  affliction.  As  if  to  make  amends  for  this  she 
exerted  herself  to  cleanse  the  house  from  everything 
which  could  possibly  inspire  fear  on  the  villagers,  and 
by  the  last  of  August  there  was  scarce  a  trace  left  of 
the  recent  scourge,  save  the  deep  scar  on  the  end  of 
the  doctor's  nose,  one  or  two  marks  on  Louis's  face, 
and  a  weakness  of  Maude's  eyes,  which  became  at  last 
a  cause  of  serious  alarm. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Louis  implored  his  father  to  seek 
medical  aid  in  Rochester,  where  the  physicians  were 
supposed  to  have  more  experience  in  such  matters. 
The  doctor  refused,  saying,  "  'twas  a  maxim  of  his  not 
to  counsel  with  any  one,  and  he  guessed  he  knew  how 
to  manage  sore  eyes." 

But  Maude's  eyes  were  not  sore — they  were  merely 
weak,  while  the  pain  in  the  eyeball  was  sometimes  so 
intense  as  to  wring  from  her  a  cry  of  suffering. 
Gradually  there  crept  into  her  heart  a  horrid  fear  that 
her  sight  was  growing  dim,  and  often  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night  she  wept  most  bitterly,  praying  that  she 
might  not  be  blind. 

u  Oh,  Louis,"  she  said  to  her  brother  one  day,  "  I 
would  so  much  rather  die  than  to  be  blind,  and  never 
see  you  any  more — never  see  the  beautiful  world  I  love 
so  much.  Oh,  must  it  be  ?  Is  there  no  help? " 

"  James  De  Yere  could  help  us  if  he  were  here,"  an 
swered  Louis,  his  own  tears  mingling  with  his  sister's. 

But   James  De  Yere  had  left   Hampton  for  New 


154  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Orleans,  where  be  would  probably  remain  until  the 
winter,  and  there  could  be  no  aid  expected  from  him. 
The  doctor  too,  was  wholly  absorbed  in  thoughts  of 
his  approaching  nuptials,  for  Maude  Glendower,  fail 
ing  to  secure  the  wealthy  bachelor,  and  overhearing 
several  times  the  remark  that  she  was  really  getting 
old,  had  consented  to  name  the  20th  of  October  for 
their  marriage.  And  so  the  other  Maude  was  left  to 
battle  with  the  terrible  fear  which  was  strengthened 
every  day. 

At  length  J.  C.,  roused  not  so  much  by  the  touching 
letter  which  she  wrote  him,  as  by  the  uncertain  hand 
writing,  came  himself,  bringing  with  him  a  physician, 
who  carefully  examined  the  soft  black  eyes,  which 
could  not  now  endure  the  light,  then  shaking  his  head, 
he  said  gravely,  "  There  is  still  some  hope,  but  she 
must  go  to  the  city,  where  I  can  see  her  every  day." 

J.  C.  looked  at  Dr.  Kennedy,  and  Dr.  Kennedy 
looked  at  J.  C.,  and  then  both  their  hands  sought  their 
pockets,  but  came  out  again — empty  !  J.  C.  really  had 
not  the  ready  means  with  which  to  meet  the  expense, 
while  Dr.  Kennedy  had  not  the  inclination.  But  one 
there  was,  the  faithful  John,  who  could  not  stand  by 
unmoved,  and  darting  from  the  room,  he  mounted  the 
woodshed  stairs,  and  from  beneath  the  rafters  drew 
out  an  old  leathern  wallet,  where,  from  time  to  time, 
he  had  deposited  money  for  "  the  wet  day."  That  wet 
day  had  come  at  last — not  to  him  but  to  another — and 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  counted  out  the  ten 
golden  eagles  which  his  purse  contained,  and,  going 
back  to  Maude,  placed  them  in  her  hand,  saying :  "  Go 
to  Rochester,  Miss  Maude.  I  saved  'em  for  you,  for  I 
wouldn't  have  the  light  squenched  in  them  shinin'  eyes 
for  all  the  land  in  old  Yirginny." 


THE  DARK  HOUR.  155 

It  was  a  noble  act,  and  it  shamed  the  paler  faces 
who  witnessed  it,  but  they  offered  no  remonstrance, 
though  Maude  did,  refusing  to  accept  it,  until  Louis 
said  :  "  Take  it,  sister — take  it,  and  when  I'm  twenty- 
one  I'll  give  to  him  ten  times  ten  golden  eagles." 

The  necessary  arrangements  were  quickly  made,  and 
ere  a  week  was  passed,  Maude  found  herself  in  Roch 
ester,  and  an  inmate  of  Mrs.  Kelsey's  family ;  for, 
touched  with  pity,  that  lady  had  offered  to  receive 
her,  and  during  her  brief  stay,  treated  her  with  every 
possible  attention.  Nellie,  too,  was  very  kind,  minis 
tering  carefully  to  the  comfort  of  her  stepsister,  who 
had  ceased  to  be  a  rival,  for  well  she  knew  J.  C.  De 
Yere  would  never  wed  a  penniless  bride  and  Hind  ! 


156  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

THE  NEW  MISTKESS    AT    LAUREL  HILL. 

THE  20th  of  October  came,  and  with  a  firm  hand 
Maude  Glendower  arrayed  herself  for  the  bridal, 
which  was  to  take  place  at  an  early  hour.  The  scar 
on  the  end  of  the  doctor's  nose  had  shaken  her  pur 
pose  for  an  instant,  but  when  she  thought  again  of  the 
unpaid  Mils  lying  in  her  private  drawer,  and  when, 
more  than  all,  the  doctor  said,  "We  greatly  fear 
Maude  Eemington  will  be  blind,"  her  resolution  was 
fixed,  and  with  a  steady  voice  she  took  upon  herself 
the  marriage  vows.  They  were  to  go  to  Laurel  Hill 
that  day,  and  when  the  doctor  saw  that  the  handsome 
furniture  of  her  rooms  was  still  untouched,  he  ventured 
to  ask  "  if  she  had  left  orders  to  have  it  sent." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you,  did  I,  that  my  furniture  was 
all  mortgaged  to  Mrs.  Raymond  for  board  and  bor 
rowed  money,  too  ;  but  of  course  you  don't  care  ;  you 
did  not  marry  my  furniture,"  and  the  little  soft,  white 
hands  were  laid  upon  those  of  the  bridegroom,  while 
the  lustrous  eyes  sought  his  face,  to  witness  the  effect 
of  her  words. 

The  dent  on  the  nose  grew  red  a  moment,  and  then 
the  doctor,  perfectly  intoxicated  with  the  beauty  of 
his  bride,  answered,  "  No,  Maude,  I  married  you." 

A  rap  at  the  door,  and  a  note  from  Messrs.  Barnabas 
Muggins  and  Brown,  "  hoped  Miss  Glendower  would 
not  forget  to  settle  her  bill." 


THE  NEW  MISTRESS  AT  LAUREL  HILL.     157 

"  It's  really  quite  provoking  to  trouble  you  with  my 
debts  so  soon,"  said  the  lady,  "  but  I  dare  say  it's  a 
maxim  of  yours  that  we  should  have  no  secrets  from 
each  other,  and  so  I  may  as  well  show  you  these  at 
once,"  and  she  turned  into  his  lap  a  handful  of  bills, 
amounting  in  all  to  four  hundred  dollars,  due  to  the 
different  tradesmen  of  Troy. 

The  spot  on  the  nose  was  decidedly  purple,  and  had 
Katy  or  Matty  been  there,  they  would  surely  -have 
recognized  the  voice  which  began,  "  Really,  Mrs.  Ken 
nedy,  I  did  not  expect  this,  and  'tis  a  max " 

"Never  mind  the  maxim,"  and  the  mouth  of  the 
speaker  was  covered  by  a  dimpled  hand,  as  Maude 
Glendower  continued,  "  It's  mean,  I  know,  but  as  true 
as  I  live,  I  don't  owe  another  cent.  Four  hundred  dol 
lars  is  not  much,  after  all,  and  you  ought  to  be  willing 
to  pay  even  more  for  me,  don't  you  think  so,  dearest  f  " 

"  Ye-es,"  faintly  answered  the  doctor,  who,  know 
ing  there  was  no  alternative,  gave  a  check  for  the 
whole  amount  on  a  Rochester  bank,  where  he  had 
funds  deposited. 

Maude  Glendower  was  a  charming  traveling  com 
panion,  and  in  listening  to  her  lively  sallies,  and  notic 
ing  the  admiration  she  received,  the  doctor  forgot  his 
lost  four  hundred  dollars,  and  by  the  time  they  reached 
Canandaigua,  he  believed  himself  supremely  happy  in 
having  such  a  wife.  John  was  waiting  for  them,  just 
as  thirteen  years  before  he  had  waited  for  blue-eyed 
Matty,  and  the  moment  her  eye  fell  upon  the  carriage 
he  had  borrowed  from  a  neighbor,  the  new  wife  ex 
claimed,  "  Oh,  I  hope  that  lumbering  old  thing  is  not 
ours.  It  would  .  give  me  the  rickets  to  ride  in  it 
long." 

"  It's  borrowed,"  the  doctor  said,  and  she  continued, 


158  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  I'll  pick  out  mine,  and  my  horses,  too.  I'm  quite  a 
connoisseur  in  those  matters." 

John  rolled  his  intelligent  eyes  toward  his  master, 
whose  face  wore  a  submissive  look,  never  seen  there 
before. 

"Henpecked!  "  was  the  negro's  mental  comment,  as 
he  prepared  to  start. 

When  about  three  miles  from  the  village,  the  lady 
started  up,  saying,  "  she  had  left  her  shawl,  and  must 
go  back  immediately." 

"  There  is  not  time,"  said  the  doctor,  "  for  the  sun 
is  already  nearly  set.  It  will  be  perfectly  safe  until 
we  send  for  it." 

"  But  it's  my  India  shawl.  I  must  have  it,"  and  the 
lady's  hand  was  laid  upon  the  reins  to  turn  the  horses' 
heads. 

Of  course  they  went  back,  finding  the  shawl,  not  at 
the  hotel,  but  under  the  carriage  cushions,  where  the 
lady  herself  had  placed  it. 

"  It's  a  maxim  of  mine  to  know  what  I'm  about," 
the  doctor  ventured  to  say,  while  a  silvery  voice  re 
turned,  "  So  do  I  ordinarily,  but  it  is  not  strange  that 
I  forget  myself  on  my  wedding  day." 

This  was  well  timed,  and  wrapping  the  garment  care 
fully  round  her  to  shelter  her  from  the  night  air,  the 
doctor  bade  the  highly  amused  John  drive  on.  They 
were  more  than  half  way  home  when  some  luscious 
oranges,  in  a  small  grocery  window,  caught  the  bride's 
eye  and  "  she  must  have  some,  she  always  kept  them 
in  her  room,"  she  said,  and  to  the  grocer's  inquiry, 
"  How  many,  madam  ? "  she  answered,  "  Two  dozen, 
at  least,  and  a  box  of  fresh  figs,  if  you  have  them.  I 
dote  on  figs." 

It  was  the  doctor's  wedding  day.     He  could  not  say 


THE  NEW  MISTRESS  AT  LAUREL  HILL.     159 

no,  and  with  a  mental  groan  he  parted  company  with 
another  bill,  while  John,  on  the  platform  without, 
danced  the  "  double  shuffle  "  in  token  of  his  delight. 
There  was  a  second  grocery  to  be  passed,  but  by  taking 
a  more  circuitous  route  it  could  be  avoided,  and  the 
discomfited  bridegroom  bade  John  "  go  through  the 
Hollow." 

"  Yes,  sar,"  answered  the  knowing  negro,  turning 
the  heads  of  the  unwilling  horses  in  a  direction  which 
would  not  bring  them  home  so  soon,  by  one  whole  hour. 

But  the  grocery  was  shunned,  and  so  the  doctor  did 
not  care  even  if  the  clock  did  strike  nine  just  as  they 
stopped  at  their  own  gate.  The  night  was  dark  and 
the  bride  could  not  distinguish  the  exterior  of  the  house, 
neither  was  the  interior  plainly  discernible,  lighted  as 
it  was  with  an  oil  lamp  and  a  single  tallow  candle.  But 
she  scarcely  thought  of  this,  so  intent  was  she  upon  the 
beautiful  face  of  the  crippled  boy,  who  sat  in  his  arm 
chair,  eagerly  awaiting  her  arrival. 

"  This  is  Louis,"  the  father  said,  and  the  scornful 
eyes  which  with  one  rapid  glance  had  scanned  the 
whole  apartment,  filled  with  tears  as  they  turned  to 
ward  the  boy. 

Dropping  on  one  knee  before  him,  the  lady  parted 
the  silken  hair  from  his  forehead,  saying  very  gently, 
"  You  must  be  like  your  mother,  save  that  your  eyes 
are  brown,  and  hers  were  blue.  May  I  be  your  mother, 
Louis  ?  Will  you  call  me  so  ?  " 

Very  wonderingly  the  child  gazed  into  her  face.  It 
was  radiantly  beautiful,  while  the  dreamy  eyes  rested 
upon  him  with  such  a  yearning  look  that  his  heart  went 
out  toward  her  at  once,  and  winding  his  arms  around 
her  neck,  he  murmured,  "  I  shall  love  you  very  much, 
my  mother." 


160  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

For  a  moment  Maude  Glendower  held  him  to  her 
bosom,  while  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  long  ago 
when  another  face  much  like  his  had  rested  there,  and 
another  voice  had  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  I  love  you, 
Maude  Glendower."  That  voice  was  hushed  in  death, 
but  through  the  child  it  spoke  to  her  again,  and  with  a 
throbbing  heart  she  vowed  to  be  to  the  crippled  boy 
what  Matty  herself  would  well  approve,  could  she 
speak  from  her  low  bed  beneath  the  willows. 

"  "What  of  your  sister  ?  "  the  lady  said  at  last,  rising 
to  her  feet.  "  Is  she  recovering  her  sight  ?  " 

"'  Nellie  writes  there  is  hope,"  said  Louis,  "  though 
she  did  not  receive  attention  soon  enough,  the  physician 
says." 

There  was  reproach,  contempt,  and  anger  in  the 
large  black  eyes  which  sought  the  doctor's  face,  but 
the  tallow  candle  burned  but  dim,  and  so  he  did  not 
see  it. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  misfortune  to  her,  and  very  hard 
on  me  if  she  is  blind,  for  of  course  I  must  take  care  of 
her,"  he  said  at  last,  while  his  wife  indignantly  replied, 
"  Take  care  of  her !  Yes,  I'd  sell  my  diamonds  rather 
than  see  her  suffer  !  " 

Supper  was  now  announced,  and  in  examining  the 
arrangement  of  the  table,  and  inspecting  the  furniture 
of  the  dining-room,  the  bride  forgot  everything  save 
the  novelty  of  her  situation.  Mentally  styling  the 
house  "an  old  rookery,"  she  forced  back  the  bitter 
feelings  which  would  rise  up  when  she  thought  how 
unlike  was  all  this  to  what  she  had  been  accustomed. 
It  needed  but  one  glance  of  her  keen  eyes  to  read  the 
whole,  and  ere  the  close  of  the  next  day,  she  under 
stood  her  position  perfectly,  and  summoning  to  her  aid 
her  iron  will,  she  determined  to  make  the  most  of 


THE  NEW  MISTRESS  AT  LAUREL  HILL,     lol 

everything.  She  knew  the  doctor  had  money,  aye, 
and  she  knew,  too,  how  to  get  it  from  him,  but  she  was 
too  wary  to  undertake  it  in  any  of  the  ordinary  ways. 
She  did  not  tell  him  how  desolate  the  old  house  seemed, 
or  that  she  was  homesick  because  of  its  desolation ; 
but  after  she  had  been  there  a  few  days,  she  sat  down 
by  his  side,  and  told  him  that  with  a  few  improvements 
it  could  be  made  the  most  delightful  spot  in  all  the 
country,  and  she  was  glad  she  had  come  there  to  help 
him  fix  it  up.  She  knew  he  had  exquisite  taste,  and,  as 
he  was  now  at  leisure,  they  would  contrive  together 
how  their  parlors  could  be  improved.  She  didn't  quite 
like  them  as  they  were,  the  window  lights  were  too 
small,  and  they  must  have  the  large  panes  of  glass. 
Then  satin  paper  on  the  walls  would  look  so  much 
better,  and  the  carpets,  though  really  very  nice,  were 
hardly  good  enough  for  a  man  of  Dr.  Kennedy's  stand 
ing  in  society. 

"  But,"  gasped  the  doctor,  "  the  one  in  the  back 
parlor  is  brand  new — has  scarcely  been  used  at  all,  and 
it  is  a  maxim  of  mine " 

"  Your  maxim  is  good,  undoubtedly,"  interrupted 
the  lady,  "  but  the  chambers  all  need  recarpeting,  and 
this  will  exactly  fit  Maude's  room,  which  I  intend  fix 
ing  beautifully  before  she  returns." 

The  doctor  looked  aghast,  and  his  wife  continued : 
"  The  season  is  so  far  advanced  that  it  is  hardly  worth 
while  to  make  any  changes  now,  but  next  spring  I 
shall  coax  you  into  all  manner  of  repairs.  I  do  won 
der  what  makes  that  spot  on  your  nose  so  red  at  times. 
You  are  really  very  fine-looking  when  it  is  not  there. 
It  is  gone,"  she  continued,  and,  smoothing  away  a 
wrinkle  in  his  forehead,  she  said,  "  We  won't  talk  of 
the  future  now,  but  seriously,  we  must  have  some  new 


162  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

Brussels  carpets,  and  a  furnace  to  warm  the  whole 
house." 

Here  she  shivered  and  coughed  quite  naturally,  after 
which  she  returned  to  the  charge,  saying,  "  her  family 
were  consumptive,  and  she  could  not  endure  the  cold." 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  will  cost  a 
great  deal  of  money  to  carry  out  your  plans." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  much,"  she  answered,  "  give  me  five 
hundred  dollars  and  I  will  do  everything  that  is  nec 
essary  to  make  us  comfortable  through  the  winter." 

"  Five  hundred  dollars,  Mrs.  Kennedy ! "  and  the 
doctor's  gray  eyes  looked  as  they  used  to  look  when 
Katy  and  Matty  asked  him  for  five.  "  Five  hundred 
dollars  !  Preposterous !  Why,  during  the  seven  years 
I  lived  with  your  predecessor,  she  did  not  cost  me 
that ! " 

From  old  Hannah,  Mrs.  Kennedy  had  learned  how 
her  predecessor  had  been  stinted  by  the  doctor,  and 
could  he  that  moment  have  looked  into  her  heart,  he 
would  have  seen  there  a  fierce  determination  to  avenge 
the  wrongs  so  meekly  borne.  But  she  did  not  embody 
her  thoughts  in  words,  neither  did  she  deem  it  advis 
able  to  press  the  subject  further  at  that  time,  so  she 
waited  for  nearly  a  week,  and  then  resumed  the  attack 
with  redoubled  zeal. 

"  We  must  have  another  servant,"  she  said.  "  Old 
Hannah  is  wholly  inefficient,  and  so  I  have  engaged  a 
colored  woman  from  the  hotel ;  and  did  1  tell  you,  I 
have  spoken  to  a  man  about  the  furnace  we  are  going 
to  have,  and  I  also  told  Mr.  Jenks  to  buy  me  one  hun 
dred  yards  of  Brussels  carpeting,  in  New  York.  He's 
gone  for  goods,  you  know." 

"  Keally,  Mrs.  Kennedy,  this  exceeds  all.  My  former 
companions  saw  fit  to  consult  me  always.  Keally,  one 


THE  NEW  MISTRESS  OF  LAUREL  HILL.     163 

hundred  yards  of  carpeting,  and  a  black  cook !  Astonish 
ing,  Mrs.  Kennedy — astonishing  !  " 

The  doctor  was  quite  too  much  confounded  to  think 
of  a  single  maxim,  for  his  wife's  effrontery  took  him 
wholly  by  surprise.  She  was  a  most  energetic  woman, 
and  her  proceedings  were  already  the  theme  of  many 
a  tea-table  gossip,  in  which  the  delighted  villagers 
exulted  that  Dr.  Kennedy  had  at  last  found  his  match. 
Yes,  he  had  found  his  match,  and  when  next  day  the 
black  cook,  Rose,  came,  and  Mr.  Brown  asked  when  he 
would  have  the  furnace  put  in  his  cellar,  there  was 
that  in  the  eye  of  his  better  half  which  prompted  a 
meek  submission.  When  the  bill  for  the  new  carpets 
was  handed  him  he  again  rebelled,  but  all  to  no 
purpose.  He  paid  the  requisite  amount,  and  tried  to 
swallow  his  wrath  with  his  wife's  consolatory  remark, 
that  "  they  were  the  handsomest  couple  hi  town,  and 
ought  to  have  the  handsomest  carpets  !  " 

One  day  he  found  her  giving  directions  to  two  or 
three  men  who  were  papering,  painting,  and  white 
washing  Maude's  room,  and  then,  as  John  remarked, 
he  seemed  more  like  himself  than  he  had  done  before 
since  his  last  marriage. 

"  If  Maude  is  going  to  be  blind,"  he  said,  "  it  can 
make  no  difference  with  her  how  her  chamber  looks, 
and  'tis  a  maxim  of  mine  to  let  well  enough  alone." 

"  I  wish  you  would  cure  yourself  of  those  disagree 
able  maxims,"  was  the  lady's  cool  reply,  as,  stepping 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  bade  John  "  bring  up  the 
carpet,  if  it  were  whipped  enough." 

"  Allow  me  to  ask  what  you  are  going  to  do  with 
it  ? "  said  the  doctor,  as  from  the  windows  he  saw  the 
back  parlor  carpet  swinging  on  the  line. 

"  Why,  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  fit  up  Maude's 


1G4  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

room.  She  is  coming  home  in  a  week,  you  know,  and 
I  am  preparing  a  surprise.  I  have  ordered  a  few  pieces 
of  light  furniture  from  the  cabinet-maker,  and  I  think 
her  chamber  would  look  nicely  if  the  walls  were  only  a 
little  higher.  They  can't  be  raised,  I  suppose  ?  " 

She  was  perfectly  collected,  and  no  queen  on  her 
throne  ever  issued  her  orders  with  greater  confidence 
in  their  being  obeyed  ;  and  when,  that  night,  she  said 
to  her  husband,  "  These  men  must  have  their  pay,"  he 
had  no  alternative  but  to  open  his  purse  and  give  her 
what  she  asked.  Thus  it  was  with  everything.  Hers 
was  the  ruling  spirit,  and  struggle  as  he  would,  the 
doctor  was  always  compelled  to  submit. 

"  Ki,  ain't  him  cotchin'  it  good  ?  "  was  John's  men 
tal  comment,  as  he  daily  watched  the  proceedings,  and 
while  Hannah  pronounced  him  "the  hen-peck-ed-est 
man  she  had  ever  seen,"  the  amused  villagers  knew  that 
will  had  met  will,  and  been  conquered ! 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  165 


CHAPTER   XYI. 

THE    BLIND    GIRL. 

MAUDE'S  chamber  was  ready  at  last,  and  very  in 
viting  it  looked  with  its  coat  of  fresh  paint,  its  cheer 
ful  paper,  bright  carpet,  handsome  bedstead,  marble 
washstand,  and  mahogany  bureau,  on  which  were 
arranged  various  little  articles  for  the  toilet.  The  few 
pieces  of  furniture  which  Mrs.  Kennedy  had  ordered 
from  the  cabinet-maker's  had  amounted,  in  all,  to 
nearly  one  hundred  dollars,  but  the  bill  was  not  yet 
sent  in,  and,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  surprise  await 
ing  him,  the  doctor  rubbed  his  hands  and  tried  to  seem 
pleased,  when  his  wife,  passing  her  arm  in  his,  led  him 
to  the  room,  which  she  compelled  him  to  admire. 

"  It  was  all  very  nice,"  he  said,  "  but  wholly  un 
necessary  for  a  blind  girl.  What  was  the  price  of 
this  ?  "  he  asked,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  bedstead. 

"  Only  twenty-five  dollars.  Wasn't  it  cheap  ?  "  and 
the  wicked  black  eyes  danced  with  merriment  at  the 
loud  groan  which  succeeded  the  answer. 

"  Twenty- five  dollars  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  the 
bedstead  Matty  and  I  slept  on  for  seven  years  only 
cost  three,  and  it  is  now  as  good  as  new." 

"  But  times  have  changed,"  said  the  lady.  "  Every 
body  has  nicer  things ;  besides,  do  you  know  people 
used  to  talk  dreadfully  about  a  man  of  your  standing 
being  so  stingy.  But  I  have  done  considerable  toward. 


166  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

correcting  that  impression.  You  ain't  stingy,  and  in 
proof  of  it,  you'll  give  me  fifty  cents  to  buy  cologne  for 
this."  And  she  took  up  a  beautiful  bottle  which  stood 
upon  the  bureau. 

The  doctor  had  not  fifty  cents  in  change,  but  a  dollar 
bill  would  suit  her  exactly  as  well,  she  said,  and 
secretly  exulting  in  her  mastery  over  the  self-willed 
tyrant,  she  suffered  him  to  depart,  saying  to  himself, 
as  he  descended  the  stair,  "  Twenty-five  dollars  for  one 
bedstead.  I  won't  stand  it !  I'll  do  something  !  " 

"  What  are  you  saying,  dear  ? "  a  melodious  voice 
called  after  him,  and  so  accelerated  his  movements 
that  the  extremity  of  his  coat  disappeared  from  view, 
just  as  the  lady  Maude  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  Oh  !  "  was  the  involuntary  exclamation  of  Louis, 
who  had  been  a  spectator  of  the  scene,  and  who  felt 
intuitively  that  his  father  had  found  his  mistress. 

During  her  few  weeks'  residence  at  Laurel  Hill, 
Maude  Glendower  had  bound  the  crippled  boy  to  her 
self  by  many  a  deed  of  love,  and  whatever  she  did  was 
sure  of  meeting  his  approval.  With  him  she  had  con 
sulted  concerning  his  sister's  room,  yielding  often  to 
his  artist  taste  in  the  arrangement  of  the  furniture, 
and  now  that  the  chamber  was  ready,  they  both 
awaited  impatiently  the  arrival  of  its  occupant.  Nellie's 
last  letter  had  been  rather  encouraging,  and  Maude 
herself  had  appended  her  name  at  its  close.  The  writing 
was  tremulous  and  uncertain,  but  it  brought  hope  to 
the  heart  of  the  brother,  who  had  never  really  believed 
it  possible  for  his  sister  to  be  blind.  Very  restless  he 
seemed  on  the  day  when  she  was  expected,  and  when, 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  the  carriage  drove  to  the 
gate,  a  faint  sickness  crept  over  him,  and  wheeling  his 
chair  to  the  window  of  her  room,  he  looked  anxiously 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  167 

at  her,  as  with  John's  assistance,  she  alighted  from  the 
carriage. 

"  If  she  walks  alone,  I  shall  know  she  is  not  very 
blind,"  he  said,  and  with  clasped  hands  he  watched 
her  intently  as  she  came  slowly  toward  the  house 
with  Nellie  a  little  in  advance. 

Nearer  and  nearer  she  came — closer  and  closer  the 
burning  forehead  was  pressed  against  the  window-pane, 
and  hope  beat  high  in  Louis'  heart,  wrhen  suddenly  she 
turned  aside — her  foot  rested  on  the  withered  violets 
which  grew  outside  the  walk,  and  her  hand  groped  in 
the  empty  air. 

"  She's  blind — she's  blind,"  said  Louis,  and  with  a 
moaning  cry,  he  laid  his  head  upon  the  broad  arm  of 
his  chair,  sobbing  most  bitterly. 

Meantime  below  there  was  a  strange  interview 
between  the  new  mother  and  her  children,  Maude 
Glendower  clasping  her  namesake  in  her  arms,  and 
weeping  over  her  as  she  had  never  wept  before  but 
once,  and  that  when  the  moonlight  shone  upon  her 
sitting  by  a  distant  grave.  Pushing  back  the  clustering 
curls,  she  kissed  the  open  brow  and  looked  into  the 
soft  black  eyes  with  a  burning  gaze,  which  penetrated 
the  shadowy  darkness  and  brought  a  flush  to  the 
cheek  of  the  young  girl. 

"  Maude  Eemington  !  Maude  Remington !  "  she 
said,  dwelling  long  upon  the  latter  name,  "  the  sight 
of  you  affects  me  painfully,  you  are  so  like  one  I  have 
lost.  I  shall  love  you,  Maude  Remington,  for  the  sake 
of  the  dead,  and  you,  too,  must  love  me,  and  call  me 
mother — will  you  ?  "  and  her  lips  again  touched  those 
of  the  astonished  maiden. 

Though  fading  fast,  the  light  was  not  yet  quenched 
in  Maude's  eyes,  and  very  wistfully  she  scanned  the 


168  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

face  of  the  speaker,  while  her  hands  moved  caressingly 
over  each  feature,  as  she  said,  "  I  will  love  you,  beautiful 
lady,  though  you  can  never  be  to  me  what  my  gentle 
mother  was." 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice,  Maude  Glendower 
started  suddenly,  and  turning  aside,  so  her  words 
could  not  be  heard,  she  murmured  sadly,  "  Both 
father  and  child  prefer  her  to  me" — then  recollecting 
herself,  she  offered  her  hand  to  the  wondering  Nellie, 
saying,  "  Your  sister's  misfortune  must  be  my  excuse 
for  devoting  so  much  time  to  her,  when  you,  as  my 
eldest  daughter,  were  entitled  to  my  first  attention." 

Her  stepmother's  evident  preference  for  Maude  had 
greatly  offended  the  selfish  Nellie,  who  coldly  answered, 
"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  madam.  It's  not  of  the  least 
consequence.  But  where  is  my  father  ?  He  will  wel 
come  me,  I  am  sure." 

The  feeling  too  often  existing  between  stepmothers 
and  stepdaughters  had  sprung  into  life,  and  hence 
forth  the  intercourse  of  Maude  Glendower  and  Nellie 
Kennedy  would  be  marked  with  studied  politeness, 
and  nothing  more.  But  the  former  did  not  care.  So 
long  as  her  eye  could  feast  itself  upon  the  face  and 
form  of  Maude  Remington,  she  was  content,  and  as 
Nellie  left  the  room,  she  wound  her  arm  around  the 
comparatively  helpless  girl,  saying,  "  Let  me  take  you 
to  your  brother." 

Although  unwilling,  usually,  to  be  led,  Maude  yielded 
now,  and  suffered  herself  to  be  conducted  to  the 
chamber  where  Louis  watched  for  her  coming.  She 
could  see  enough  to  know  there  was  a  change,  and 
clasping  her  companion's  hand,  she  said,  "  I  am  surely 
indebted  to  you  for  this  surprise." 

"  Maude,   Maude ! "   and  the  tones  of  Louis'  voice 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  169 

trembled  with  joy,  as  stretching  his  arms  toward  her, 
he  cried,  "  You  can  see." 

Guided  more  by  the  sound  than  by  actual  vision, 
Maude  flew  like  lightning  to  his  side,  and  kneeling' 
before  him,  hid  her  face  in  his  lap,  while  he  bent  fondly 
over  her,  beseeching  her  to  say  if  she  could  see.  It 
was  a  most  touching  sight,  and  drawing  near,  Maude, 
Glendower  mingled  her  tears  with  those  of  the  un 
fortunate  children,  on  whom  affliction  had  laid  her 
heavy  hand. 

Maude  Remington  was  naturally  of  a  hopeful  nature, 
and  though  she  had  passed  through  many  an  hour  of 
anguish,  and  had  rebelled  against  the  fearful  doom 
Avhich  seemed  to  be  approaching,  she  did  not  yet 
despair.  She  still  saw  a  little — could  discern  colors 
and  forms,  and  could  tell  one  person  from  another. 

"  I  shall  be  better  by  and  by,"  she  said,  when  assured 
by  the  sound  of  retreating  footsteps  that  they  were 
alone.  "  I  am  following  implicitly  the  doctor's  direc 
tions,  and  I  hope  to  see  by  Christmas — but  if  I  do 
not " 

Here  she  broke  down  entirely,  and  wringing  her 
hands  she  cried,  "  Oh,  brother. — brother,  must  I  be 
blind  ?  I  can't — I  can't,  for  who  will  care  for  poor, 
blind,  helpless  Maude  ? " 

"I,  sister,  I,"  and  hushing  his  own  great  sorrow, 
the  crippled  boy  comforted  the  weeping  girl  just  as 
she  had  once  comforted  him,  when  in  the  quiet  grave 
yard  he  had  lain  him  down  in  the  long,  rank  grass, 
and  wished  that  he  might  die.  "  Pa's  new  wife  will 
care  for  you,  too,"  he  said.  "  She's  a  beautiful  woman, 
Maude,  and  a  good  one,  I  am  sure,  for  she  cried  so 
hard  over  mother's  grave,  and  her  voice  was  so  gentle 
when,  just  as  though  she  had  known  our  mother,  she 


170  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

said,  "  Darling  Matty,  I  will  be  kind  to  your  chil 
dren." 

"  Ah,  that  I  will — I  will,"  came  faintly  from  the  hall 
Avithout,  where  Maude  Glendower  stood,  her  eyes 
riveted  upon  the  upturned  face  of  Maude,  and  her 
whole  body  swelling  with  emotion. 

A  sad  heritage  had  been  bequeathed  to  her — a 
crippled  boy  and  a  weak,  blind  girl — but  in  some 
respects  she  was  a  noble  woman,  and  as  she  gazed  upon 
the  two,  she  resolved  that  so  long  as  she  should  live, 
so  long  should  the  helpless  children  of  Matty  Kemington 
have  a  steadfast  friend.  Hearing  her  husband's  voice 
below,  she  glided  down  the  stairs,  leaving  Louis  and 
Maude  really  alone. 

"  Sister,"  said  Louis,  after  a  moment,  "  what  of 
Mr.  De  Yere  ?  Is  he  true  to  the  last  ? " 

"  I  have  released  him,"  answered  Maude.  "  I  am 
nothing  to  him  now,"  and  very  calmly  she  proceeded 
to  tell  him  of  the  night  when  she  had  said  to  Mr.  De 
Yere,  "  My  money  is  gone — my  sight  is  going  too,  and 
1  give  you  back  your  troth,  making  you  free  to  marry 
another,  Nellie,  if  you  choose.  She  is  better  suited  to 
you  than  I  have  ever  been." 

Though  secretly  pleased  at  her  offering  to  give  him 
up,  J.  C.  made  a  show  of  resistance,  but  she  had 
prevailed  at  last,  and  with  the  assurance  that  he  should 
always  esteem  her  highly,  he  consented  to  the  breaking 
of  the  engagement,  and  the  very  next  afternoon  rode 
out  with  Nellie  Kennedy. 

"  He  will  marry  her,  I  think,"  Maude  said,  as  she 
finished  narrating  the  circumstances,  and  looking  into 
her  calm,  unruffled  face,  Louis  felt  sure  that  she  had 
outlived  her  love  for  one  who  had  proved  himself  as 
fickle  as  J.  C.  De  Yere. 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  171 

"  And  what  of  James  ?  "  be  asked.  "  Is  he  still  in 
New  Orleans  ?  " 

"  He  is,"  answered  Maude.  "  He  has  a  large  whole 
sale  establishment  there,  and  as  one  of  the  partners  is 
sick,  he  has  taken  his  place  for  the  winter.  He  wrote 
to  his  cousin  often,  bidding  him  spare  no  expense  for 
me,  and  offering  to  pay  the  bills  if  J.  C.  was  not 
able." 

Awhile  longer  they  conversed,  and  then  they  were 
summoned  to  supper,  Mrs.  Kennedy  coming  herself  for 
Maude,  who  did  not  refuse  to  be  assisted  by  her. 

"  The  wind  hurt  my  eyes — they  will  be  better  to 
morrow,"  she  said,  and,  with  her  old  sunny  smile,  she 
greeted  her  stepfather,  and  then  turned  to  Hannah  and 
John,  who  had  come  in  to  see  her. 

But  alas  for  the  delusion  !  The  morrow  brought  no 
improvement,  neither  the  next  day,  nor  the  next,  and 
as  the  world  grew  dim,  there  crept  into  her  heart  a 
sense  of  utter  desolation,  which  neither  the  tender  love 
of  Maude  Glendower,  nor  yet  the  untiring  devotion  of 
Louis,  could  in  any  degree  dispel.  All  day  would  she 
sit  opposite  the  window,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  light 
with  a  longing,  eager  gaze,  as  if  she  feared  that  the 
next  moment  it  might  leave  her  forever.  Whatever  he 
could  do  for  her  Louis  did,  going  to  her  room  each 
morning,  and  arranging  her  dress  and  hair  just  as  he 
knew  she  used  to  wear  it.  She  would  not  suffer  any 
one  else  to  do  this  for  her,  and  in  performing  these 
little  offices,  Louis  felt  that  he  was  only  repaying  her 
in  part  for  all  she  had  done  for  him. 

Christmas  eve  came  at  last,  and  if  she  thought  of 
what  was  once  to  have  been  on  the  morrow,  she  gave 
no  outward  token,  and,  with  her  accustomed  smile, 
bade  the  family  good  night.  The  next  morning  Louis 


172  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

went  often  to  her  door,  and,  hearing  no  sound  within, 
fancied  she  was  sleeping,  until  at  last,  as  the  clock 
struck  nine,  he  ventured  to  go  in.  Maude  was  awake, 
and  advancing  to  her  side,  he  bade  her  a  "  Merry  Christ 
mas,"  playfully  chiding  her  the  while  for  having  slept 
so  late.  A  wild,  startled  expression  flashed  over  her 
face,  as  she  said  :  "  Late,  Louis  !  Is  it  morning,  then  ? 
I've  watched  so  long  to  see  the  light  ? " 

Louis  did  not  understand  her,  and  he  answered, 
"  Morning,  yes.  The  sunshine  is  streaming  into  the 
room.  Don't  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  Sunshine  !  "  and  Maude's  lips  quivered  with  fear, 
as  springing  from  her  pillow,  she  whispered  faintly, 
"  Lead  me  to  the  window." 

He  complied  with  her  request,  watching  her  curi 
ously  as  she  laid  both  hands  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
which  bathed  her  fair,  round  arms,  and  shone  upon  her 
raven  hair.  She  felt  what  she  could  not  see,  and  Louis 
Kennedy  never  forgot  the  agonized  expression  of  the 
white,  beautiful  face,  which  turned  toward  him,  as  the 
wretched  Maude  moaned  piteously,  "  Yes,  brother,  'tis 
morning  to  you,  but  dark,  dark  night  to  me.  Pm 
blind!  oh,  I'm  Mind  f  " 

She  did  not  faint,  she  did  not  shriek,  but  she  stood 
there  rigid  and  immovable,  her  countenance  giving 
fearful  token  of  the  terrible  storm  within.  She  was 
battling  fiercely  with  her  fate,  and  until  twice  re 
peated,  she  did  not  hear  the  childish  voice  which  said 
to  her  pleadingly,  "  Don't  look  so,  sister.  You  frighten 
me,  and  there  may  be  some  hope  yet." 

"  Hope,"  she  repeated  bitterly,  turning  her  sightless 
eyes  toward  him,  "  there  is  no  hope  but  death." 

"  Maude,"  and  Louis's  voice  was  like  a  plaintive 
harp,  so  mournful  was  its  tone,  "  Maude,  once  in  the 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  173 

very  spot  where  mother  is  lying  now,  you  said,  be 
cause  I  was  a  cripple,  you  would  love  me  all  the  more. 
You  have  kept  that  promise  well,  my  sister.  You  have 
been  all  the  world  to  me,  and  now  that  you  are  blind, 
I,  too,  will  love  you  more.  I  will  be  your  light — your 
eyes,  and  when  James  De  Yere  comes  back- " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  moaned  Maude,  sinking  upon  the 
floor.  "  Nobody  will  care  for  me.  Nobody  will  love 
a  blind  girl ;  oh,  is  it  Avicked  to  wish  that  I  could  die, 
lying  here  in  the  sunshine,  which  I  shall  never  see 
again  ?  " 

There  was  a  movement  at  the  door,  and  Mrs. 
Kennedy  appeared,  starting  back  as  her  eye  fell  upon 
the  face  of  the  prostrate  girl,  who  recognized  her  step, 
and  murmured  sadly,  "  Mother,  I'm  blind,  wholly  blind.'* 

Louis's  grief  had  been  too  great  for  tears,  but  Maude 
Glendower's  flowed  at  once,  and  bending  over  the 
white-faced  girl,  she  strove  to  comfort  her,  te'lling  her 
how  she  would  always  love  her,  that  every  wish  should 
be  gratified. 

"  Then  give  me  back  my  sight,  oh,  give  me  back  my 
sight,"  and  Maude  clasped  her  mother's  hands  implor 
ingly. 

Ere  long  she  grew  more  calm,  and  suffered  herself  to 
be  dressed  as  usual,  but  she  would  not  admit  any  one  to 
her  room,  neither  on  that  day  nor  for  many,  succeed 
ing  days.  At  length,  however,  this  feeling  wore 
away,  and  in  the  heartfelt  sympathy  of  her  family  and 
friends,  she  found  a  slight  balm  for  her  grief.  Even 
the  doctor  was  softened,  and  when  Messrs.  Beebe  <fer 
Co.  sent  in  a  bill  of  ninety-live  dollars  for  various 
articles  of  furniture,  the  frown  upon  his  face  gave  way 
when  his  wife  said  to  him,  "  It  was  for  Maude,  you 
know,  poor  Maude  !  " 


174  COUSIN"  MAUDE. 

"  Poor  Maude  ! "  seemed  to  be  the  sentiment  of  the 
whole  household,  and  Nellie  herself  said  it  many  a 
time,  as  with  unwonted  tenderness  she  caressed  the 
unfortunate  girl,  fearing,  the  while  lest  she  had  done 
her  a  wrong,  for  she  did  not  then  understand  the 
nature  of  Maude's  feeling  for  J.  C.  De  Yere,  to  whom 
Nellie  was  now  engaged. 

Urged  on  by  Mrs.  Kelsey,  and  a  fast  diminishing  in- 
come,  J.  C.  had  written  to  Nellie  soon  after  her  return 
to  Laurel  Hill,  asking  her  to  be  his  wife.  He  did  not 
disguise  his  former  love  for  Maude,  neither  did  he  pre 
tend  to  have  outlived  it,  but  he  said  he  could  not  wed 
a  blind  girl.  And  Nellie,  forgetting  her  assertion  that 
she  would  never  marry  one  who  had  first  proposed  to 
Maude,  was  only  too  much  pleased  to  answer  Yes.  And 
when  J.  C.  insisted  upon  an  early  day,  she  named  the 
fifth  of  March,  her  twentieth  birthday.  She  was  to  be 
married  at  home,  and  as  the  preparations  for  the  wed 
ding  would  cause  a  great  amount  of  bustle  and  confu 
sion  in  the  house,  it  seemed  necessary  that  Maude 
should  know  the  cause,  and  with  a  beating  heart  Nellie 
went  to  her  one  day  to  tell  the  news.  Very  com 
posedly  Maude  listened  to  the  story,  and  then  as  com 
posedly  replied,  "  I  am  truly  glad,  and  trust  you  will 
be  happy." 

"  So  I  should  be,"  answered  Nellie,  "  if  I  were  sure 
you  did  not  care." 

"  Care !  for  whom  ?  "  returned  Maude.  "  For  J.  C. 
De  ^iere?  Every  particle  of  love  for  him  has  died  out, 
and  I  am  now  inclined  to  think  I  never  entertained  for 
him  more  than  a  girlish  fancy,  while  he  certainly  did 
not  truly  care  for  me." 

This  answer  was  very  quieting  to  Nellie's  conscience, 
and  in  unusually  good  spirits  she  abandoned  herself  to 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  175 

the  excitement  which  usually  precedes  a  wedding. 
Mrs.  Kennedy,  too,  entered  heart  and  soul  into  the 
matter,  and  arming  herself  with  the  plea,  that  "  it  was 
his  only  daughter,  who  would  probably  never  be  mar 
ried  again,"  she  coaxed  her  husband  into  all  manner  of 
extravagances,  and  by  the  first  of  March,  few  would 
have  recognized  the  interior  of  the  house,  so  changed 
was  it  by  furniture  and  repairs.  Handsome  damask 
curtains  shaded  the  parlor  windows,  which  were 
further  improved  by  large  heavy  panes  of  glass. 
Matty's  piano  had  been  removed  to  Maude's  chamber, 
and  its  place  supplied  by  a  new  and  costly  instrument, 
which  the  crafty  woman  made  her  husband  believe  was 
intended  by  Mrs.  Kelsey  who  selected  it  as  a  bridal 
present  for  her  niece".  The  furnace  was  in  splendid 
order,  keeping  the  whole  house,  as  Hannah  said, 
"  hotter  than  an  oven,"  while  the  disturbed  doctor 
lamented  daily  over  the  amount  of  fuel  it  consumed, 
and  nightly  counted  the  contents  of  his  purse,  or  reck 
oned  up  how  much  he  was  probably  worth.  But 
neither  his  remonstrances  nor  yet  his  frequent  groans, 
had  any  effect  upon  his  wife.  Although  she  had  no 
love  for  Nellie,  she  was  determined  upon  a  splendid 
wedding,  one  which  would  make  folks  talk  for  months, 
and  when  her  liege  lord  complained  of  the  confusion, 
she  suggested  to  him  a  furnished  room  in  the  garret, 
where  it  would  be  very  quiet  for  him  to  reckon  up  the 
bills,  which  from  time  to  time  she  brought  him. 

"  Might  as  well  gin  in  at  oncet,"  John  said  to  him 
one  day,  when  he  borrowed  ten  dollars  for  the  pay 
ment  of  an  oyster  bill.  "  I  tell  you  she's  got  more 
besom  in  her  than  both  them  t'other  ones." 

The  doctor  probably  thought  so  too,  for  he  became 
comparatively  submissive,  though  he  visited  often  the 


176  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

sunken  graves,  where  he  found  a  mournful  solace  in 
reading "  Katy,  wife  of  Dr.  Kennedy,  aged  twenty- 
nine," — "  Matty,  second  wife  of  Dr.  Kennedy,  aged 
thirty,"  and  once  he  was  absolutely  guilty  of  wonder 
ing  how  the  words  "  Maude,  third  wife  of  Dr.  Kennedy, 
aged  41,"  would  look.  But  he  repented  him  of  the 
wicked  thought,  and  when  on  his  return  from  his 
"  graveyard  musings,"  Maude,  aged  41,  asked  him  for 
the  twenty  dollars  which  she  saw  a  man  pay  to  him 
that  morning,  he  gave  it  to  her  without  a  word. 

Meanwhile  the  fickle  J.  C.,  in  Eochester,  was  one 
moment  regretting  the  step  he  was  about  to  take,  and 
the  next  wishing  the  day  would  hasten,  so  he  could 
"  have  it  over  with."  Maude  Kemington  had  secured 
a  place  in  his  affections  which  Nellie  could  not  fill,  and 
though  he  had  no  wish  to  marry  her  now,  he  tried  to 
make  himself  believe  that  but  for  her  misfortune,  she 
should  still  have  become  his  wife. 

"  Jim  would  marry  her,  I  dare  say,  even  if  she  were 
blind  as  a  bat,"  he  said,  "  but  then  he  is  able  to  support 
her,"  and  reminded  by  this  of  an  unanswered  letter 
from  his  cousin,  who  was  still  in  ISTew  Orleans,  he  sat 
down  and  wrote,  telling  him  of  Maude's  total  blind 
ness,  and  then,  almost  in  the  next  sentence  saying 
that  his  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  fifth  of  March. 
"  There,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  read  over  the  letter,  "  I 
believe  I  must  be  crazy,  for  I  never  told  him  that  the 
bride  was  Nellie,  but  no  matter,  I'd  like  to  have  him 
think  me  magnanimous  for  awhile,  and  I  want  to  hear 
what  he  says." 

Two  weeks  or  more  went  by,  and  then  there  came 
an  answer,  fraught  with  sympathy  for  Maude,  and  full 
of  commendation  for  J.  C.,  who  "  had  shown  himself  a 
man" 


THE  BLIND  GIRL.  ITT 

Accompanying  the  letter  was  a  box  containing  a 
most  exquisite  set  of  pearls  for  the  bride,  together  with 
a  diamond  ring,  on  which  was  inscribed,  "  Cousin. 
Maude." 

"  Ain't  I  in  a  deuced  scrape,"  said  J.  C.,  as  he  ex 
amined  the  beautiful  ornaments,  "  Nellie  would  be  de 
lighted  with  them,  but  she  shan't  have  them,  they  are 
not  hers.  I'll  write  to  Jim  at  once,  and  tell  him  the 
mistake,"  and  seizing  his  pen,  he  dashed  off  a  few  lines, 
little  guessing  how  much  happiness  they  would  carry 
to  the  far-off  city,  where  daily  and  nightly  James  De 
Yere  fought  manfully  with  the  love  that  clung  with  a 
deathlike  grasp  to  the  girl  J.  C.  had  forsaken,  the  poor, 
blind,  helpless  Maude. 


178  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
NELLIE'S  BRIDAL  NIGHT. 

THE  blind  girl  sat  alone  in  her  chamber,  listening  to 
the  sound  of  merry  voices  in  the  hall  without,  or  the 
patter  of  feet,  as  the  fast  arriving  guests  tripped  up  and 
down  the  stairs.  She  had  heard  the  voice  of  J.  C.  De 
Vere  as  he  passed  her  door,  but  it  awoke  within  her 
bosom  no  lingering  regret,  and  when  an  hour  later, 
Nellie  stood  before  her,  arrayed  in  her  bridal  robes,  she 
passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  the  flowing  curls,  the 
fair,  round  face,  the  satin  dress,  and  streaming  veil, 
saying  as  she  did  so,  "  I  know  you  are  beautiful,  my 
sister,  and  if  a  blind  girl's  blessing  can  be  of  any  avail, 
you  have  it  most  cordially." 

Both  Mrs.  Kennedy  and  Nellie  had  urged  Maude  to 
be  present  at  the  ceremony,  but  she  shrank  from  the 
gaze  of  strangers,  and  preferred  remaining  in  her  room, 
an  arrangement  quite  satisfactory  to  J.  C.,  who  did  not 
care  to  meet  her  then.  It  seemed  probable  that  some 
of  the  guests  would  go  up  to  see  her,  and  knowing  this, 
Mrs.  Kennedy  had  arranged  her  curls  and  dress  with 
unusual  care,  saying  to  her  as  she  kissed  her  pale  cheek, 
"  You  are  far  more  beautiful  than  the  bride." 

And  Maude  was  beautiful.  Recent  suffering  and 
non-exposure  to  the  open  air  had  imparted  a  delicacy 
to  her  complexion,  which  harmonized  well  with  tho 
mournful  expression  of  her  face,  and  the  idea  of  touch 
ing  helplessness  which  her  presence  inspired.  Her 


NELLIE'S  BRIDAL  NIGHT.  179 

long,  fringed  eyelashes  rested  upon  her  cheek,  and  her 
short,  glossy  curls  were  never  more  becomingly  ar 
ranged  than  now,  when  stepping  backward  a  pace  or 
two,  Mrs.  Kennedy  stopped  a  moment  to  admire  her 
again,  ere  going  below  where  her  presence  was  already 
needed. 


The  din  of  voices  grew  louder  in  the  hall,  there  was 
a  tread  of  many  feet  upon  the  stairs,  succeeded  by  a 
solemn  hush,  and  Maude,  listening  to  every  sound, 
knew  that  the  man  to  whom  she  had  been  plighted, 
was  giving  to  another  his  marriage  vow.  She  had  no 
love  for  J.  C.  De  Yere,  but  as  she  sat  there  alone  in  her 
desolation,  and  thoughts  of  her  sister's  happiness  rose 
up  in  contrast  to  her  own  dark,  hopeless  lot,  who  shall 
blame  her  if  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
wept  most  bitterly.  Poor  Maude  !  It  was  dark,  dark 
night  within,  and  dark,  dark  night  without ;  and  her 
dim  eye  could  not  penetrate  the  gloom,  nor  see  the 
star  which  hung  o'er  the  brow  of  the  distant  hill, 
where  a  way-worn  man  was  toiling  on.  Days  and 
nights  had  he  traveled,  unmindful  of  fatigue,  while 
his  throbbing  heart  outstript  the  steam-god  by  many  a 
mile. 

The  letter  had  fulfilled  its  mission,  and  with  one 
wild  burst  of  joy  when  he  read  that  she  was  free,  he 
started  for  the  north.  He  was  not  expected  at  the 
wedding,  but  it  would  be  a  glad  surprise,  he  knew,  and 
he  pressed  untiringly  on,  thinking  but  one  thought,  and 
that,  how  he  would  comfort  the  poor,  blind  Maude. 
He  did  not  know  that  even  then  her  love  belonged  to 
him,  but  he  could  win  it,  perhaps,  and  then  away  to 


180  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

sunny  France,  where  many  a  wonderful  cure  had  been 
wrought,  and  might  be  wrought  again. 


The  bridal  was  over,  and  the  congratulations  nearly 
so  when  a  stranger  was  announced,  an  uninvited  guest, 
and  from  his  armchair  in  the  corner,  Louis  saw  that  it 
was  the  same  kind  face  which  had  bent  so  fearlessly 
over  his  pillow  little  more  than  six  months  before. 
James  De  Vere — the  name  was  echoed  from  lip  to  lip, 
but  did  not  penetrate  the  silent  chamber  where  Maude 
sat  weeping  yet. 

A  rapid  glance  through  the  rooms  assured  the  young 
man  that  she  was  not  there :  and  when  the  summons 
to  supper  was  given,  he  went  to  Louis  and  asked  him 
for  his  sister. 

"  She  is  up-stairs,"  said  Louis,  adding  impulsively, 
"  She  will  be  glad  you  have  come,  for  she  has  talked  of 
you  so  much." 

"  Talked  of  me ! "  and  the  eyes  of  James  De  Yere 
looked  earnestly  into  Louis's  face.  "  And  does  she  talk 
of  me  still  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Louis,  "  I  heard  her  once  when  she  was 
asleep,  though  I  ought  not  to  have  mentioned  it,"  he 
continued,  suddenly  recollecting  himself,  "  for  when  I 
told  her,  she  blushed  so  red,  and  bade  me  not  to 
tell." 

"  Take  me  to  her,  will  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  De  Yere,  and 
following  his  guide,  he  was  soon  opposite  the  door  of 
Maude's  room. 

"  "Wait  a  moment,"  he  exclaimed,  passing  his  fingers 
through  his  hair,  and  trying  in  vain  to  brush  from  his 
coat  the  dust  which  had  settled  there. 

"  It  don't  matter,  for   she  can't  see,"  said  Louis, 


NELLIE'S  BRIDAL  NIGHT.  181 

•who  comprehended  at  once  the  feelings  of  his  com 
panion. 

By  this  time  they  stood  within  the  chamber,  but  so 
absorbed  was  Maude  in  her  own  grief,  that  she  did  not 
hear  her  brother,  until  he  bent  over  her  and  whispered 
in  her  ear,  "Wake,  sister,  if  you're  sleeping.  He's 
come.  Hds  here  !  " 

She  had  no  need  to  ask  of  him  who  had  come.  She 
knew  intuitively,  and  starting  up,  her  unclosed  eyes 
flashed  eagerly  around  the  room,  turning  at  last  toward 
the  door  where  she  felt  he  was  standing.  James  De 
Vere  remained  motionless,  watching  intently  the  fair, 
troubled  face,  which  had  never  seemed  so  fair  to  him 
before. 

"  Brother,  have  you  deceived  me  ?  "Where  is  he  ?  " 
she  said  at  last,  as  her  listening  ear  caught  no  new 
sound. 

"  Here,  Maude,  here,"  and  gliding  to  her  side,  Mr. 
De  Yere  wound  his  arm  around  her,  and  kissing  her 
lips,  called  her  by  the  name  to  which  she  was  getting 
accustomed,  and  which  never  sounded  so  soothingly  as 
when  breathed  by  his  melodious  voice.  "  My  poor, 
blind  Maude,"  was  all  he  said,  but  by  the  clasp  of  his 
warm  hand,  by  the  tear  she  felt  upon  her  cheek,  and 
by  his  very  silence  she  knew  how  deeply  he  sympa 
thized  with  her. 

Knowing  that  they  would  rather  be  alone,  Louis 
went  below,  where  many  inquiries  were  making  for  the 
guest  who  had  so  suddenly  disappeared.  The  inter 
view  between  the  two  was  short,  for  some  of  Maude's 
acquaintance  came  up  to  see  her,  but  it  sufficed  for  Mr. 
De  Yere  to  learn  all  that  he  cared  particularly  to  know 
then.  Maude  did  not  love  J.  C.  whose  marriage  with 
another  caused  her  no  regret,  and  this  knowledge  made 


182  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

the  future  seem  hopeful  and  bright.  It  was  not  the 
time  to  speak  of  that  future  to  her,  but  he  bade  her 
take  courage,  hinting  that  his  purse  should  never  be 
closed  until  every  possible  means  had  been  used  for  the 
restoration  of  her  sight.  What  wonder  then,  if  she 
dreamed  that  night  that  she  could  see  again,  and  that 
the  good  angel  by  whose  agency  this  blessing  had  been 
restored  to  her,  was  none  other  than  James  De  Vere. 


COUSIN  MAUDE.  183 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COUSIN    MAUDE. 

THREE  days  had  passed  since  the  bridal,  and  James 
still  lingered  at  Laurel  Hill,  while  not  very  many  miles 
away  his  mother  waited  and  wondered  why  he  did  not 
come.  J.  C.  and  Nellie  were  gone,  but  ere  they  had 
left,  the  former  sought  an  interview  with  Maude,  whose 
placid  brow  he  kissed  tenderly,  as  he  whispered  in  her 
ear :  "  Fate  decreed  that  you  should  not  be  my  wife, 
but  I  have  made  you  my  sister,  and,  if  I  mistake  not, 
another  wishes  to  make  you  my  cousin." 

To  James  he  had  given  back  the  ornaments  intended 
for  another  bride  than  Nellie,  saying,  as  he  did  so, 
"  Maude  De  Vere  may  wear  them  yet." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  James,  and  J.  C.  re 
plied  :  "  I  mean  that  /and  not  you  will  have  a  Cousin 
Maude. 

"  Who  might  have  been  your  wife  ?  "  queried  James. 

"  No,"  J.  C.  answered  mournfully,  "  not  my  wife, 
even  if  she  were  not  blind.  I  never  satisfied  her,  and 
she  did  not  love  me  as  I  know  she  can  love  you,  who 
are  far  more  worthy  of  her.  God  bless  you  both,"  and 
with  a  sigh  to  the  memory  of  what  he  once  hoped 
would  be,  J.  C.  went  from  his  cousin  to  his  bride,  who 
petulantly  chided  him  for  having  stayed  so  long  away. 

Two  days  had  elapsed  since  then,  and  it  was  night 
again — but  to  the  blind  girl,  drinking  in  the  words  of 
love,  which  fell  like  music  on  her  ear,  it  was  nigh  noon 
day,  and  the  sky  undimmed  by  a  single  cloud. 


184  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  I  once  called  you  my  cousin,  Maude,"  the  deep- 
toned  voice  said,  "  and  I  thought  it  the  sweetest  name 
I  had  ever  heard,  but  there  is  a  nearer,  dearer  name 
which  I  would  give  to  you,  even  my  wife — Maude — 
shall  it  be  ? "  and  he  looked  into  her  sightless  eyes  to 
read  her  answer. 

She  had  listened  eagerly  to  the  story  of  his  love  born 
so  long  ago — had  held  her  breath  lest  she  should  lose 
a  single  word  when  he  told  her  how  he  had  battled 
with  that  love,  and  how  his  heart  had  thrilled  with  joy 
when  he  heard  that  she  was  free — but  when  he  asked 
her  to  be  his  wife,  the  bright  vision  faded,  and  she  an 
swered  mournfully,  "  You  know  not  what  you  say. 
You  would  not  take  a  blind  girl  in  her  helplessness." 

"  A  thousand-fold  dearer  to  me  for  that  very  help 
lessness,"  he  said,  and  then  he  told  her  of  the  land  be 
yond  the  sea,  where  the  physicians  were  well  skilled  in 
everything  pertaining  to  the  eye.  "  Hither  they  would 
go,"  he  said,  "  when  the  April  winds  were  blowing, 
and  should  the  experiment  not  succeed  he  would  love 
and  cherish  her  all  the  more." 

Maude  knew  he  was  in  earnest,  and  was  about  to 
answer  him,  when  along  the  hall  there  came  the  sound 
of  little  crutches,  and  over  her  face  there  flitted  a 
shadow  of  pain.  It  was  the  sister-love  warring  with 
the  love  of  self,  but  James  De  Yere  understood  it  all, 
and  he  hastened  to  say,  "  Louis  will  go,  too,  my  dar 
ling.  I  have  never  had  a  thought  of  separating  you. 
In  Europe  he  will  have  a  rare  opportunity  for  develop 
ing  his  taste.  Shall  it  not  be  so  ? " 

"Let  him  decide,"  was  Maude's  answer,  as  the 
crutches  struck  the  soft  carpet  of  the  room. 

"  Louis,"  said  Mr.  De  Yere,  "  shall  Maude  go  with 
me  to  Europe  as  my  wife  ?  " 


COUSIN  MAUDE.  185 

"Yes,  yes — yes,  yes,"  was  Louis's  hasty  answer,  his 
brown  eyes  filling  with  tears  of  joy,  when  he  heard 
that  he,  too,  \vas  to  accompany  them. 

Maude  could  no  longer  refuse,  and  she  half  fancied 
she  saw  the  flashing  of  the  diamonds,  when  James 
placed  upon  her  finger  the  ring,  which  bore  the  in 
scription  of  "  Cousin  Maude."  Before  coming  there 
that  night,  Mr.  De  Yere  had  consulted  a  New  York 
paper,  and  found  that  a  steamship  would  sail  for  Liver 
pool  on  the  20th  of  April,  about  six  weeks  from  that 
day. 

"  "We  will  go  in  it,"  he  said,  "  my  blind  bird,  Louis 
and  I,"  and  he  parted  lovingly  the  silken  tresses  of  her 
to  whom  this  new  appellation  Avas  given. 

There  was  much  in  the  future  to  anticipate,  and 
much  in  the  past  which  he  wished  to  talk  over ;  so  he 
stayed  with  her  late  that  night,  and  on  passing  through 
the  lower  hall  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  Mrs.  Ken 
nedy  still  sitting  in  the  parlor.  She  had  divined  the 
object  and  result  of  his  visit,  and  the  moment  he  was 
gone,  she  glided  up  the  stairs  to  the  room  where  Maude 
was  quietly  weeping  for  very  joy.  The  story  of  the 
engagement  was  soon  told,  and  winding  her  arm 
around  Maude's  neck  Mrs.  Kennedy  said,  "  I  rejoice 
with  you,  daughter,  in  your  happiness,  but  I  shall  be 
left  so  desolate  when  you  and  Louis  are  both  gone." 

Just  then  her  eye  caught  the  ring  upon  Maude's 
finger,  and  taking  it  in  her  hand,  she  admired  its  chaste 
beauty,  and  was  calculating  its  probable  cost,  when 
glancing  at  the  inside,  she  started  suddenly,  exclaim 
ing,  "  Cousin  Maude '' — that  is  my  name — the  one  by 
which  he  always  called  me.  Has  it  been  given  to  you, 
too?"  and  as  the  throng  of  memories -that  name 
awakened  came  rushing  over  her,  the  impulsive  woman. 


186  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

folded  the  blind  girl  to  her  bosom,  saying  to  her,  "  My 
child,  my  child,  you  should  have  been  !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Maude,  and  Mrs. 
Kennedy  replied,  "  It  is  not  meet  that  we  should  part 
ere  I  tell  you  who  and  what  I  am.  Is  the  name  of 
Maude  Glendower  strange  to  you  ?  Did  you  never  hear 
it  in  your  Vernon  home  ?  " 

"  It  seemed  familiar  to  me  when  J.  C.  De  Yere  first 
told  me  of  you,"  answered  Maude,  but  I  cannot  recall 
any  particular  time  when  I  heard  it  spoken.  Did  you 
know  my  mother  ? " 

"  Yes,  father  and  mother  both,  and  loved  them,  too. 
Listen  to  me,  Maude,  while  I  tell  you  of  the  past. 
Though  it  seems  so  long  ago,  I  was  a  schoolgirl  once, 
and  nightly  in  my  arms  there  slept  a  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed  maiden,  four  years  my  junior,  over  whom  I  exer 
cised  an  elder  sister's  care.  She  loved  me — this  little 
blue-eyed  girl — and  when  your  brother  first  spoke  to 
me,  I  seemed  again  to  hear  her  voice  whispering 
in  my  ear,  'I  love  you,  beautiful  Maude.'" 

4<  It  was  mother — it  was  mother !  "  and  Maude  Rem 
ington  drew  nearer  to  the  excited  woman,  who  an 
swered, 

"  Yes,  it  was  your  mother,  then  little  Matty  Reed  ; 
we  were  at  school  together  in  New  Haven,  and  she  was 
my  roommate.  We  were  not  at  all  alike,  for  I  was 
wholly  selfish,  while  she  found  her  greatest  pleasure  in 
ministering  to  others'  happiness  ;  but  she  crossed  my 
path  at  last,  and  then  I  thought  I  hated  her." 

"  Not  my  mother,  lady.  You  could  not  hate  my 
mother  ; "  and  the  blind  eyes  flashed  as  if  they  would 
tear  away  the  veil  of  darkness  in  which  they  were 
enshrouded,  and  gaze  upon  a  woman  who  could  hate 
sweet  Matty  Remington. 


COUSIN  MAUDE.  187 

"  Hush,  child,  don't  look  so  fiercely  at  me,"  said 
Maude  Glendower.  "  Upon  your  mother's  grave  I 
have  wept  that  sin  away,  and  I  know  I  am  forgiven 
as  well  as  if  her  own  soft  voice  had  told  me  so.  I 
loved  your  father,  Maude,  and  this  was  my  great  error. 
He  was  a  distant  relative  of  your  mother,  whom  he 
always  called  his  cousin.  He  visited  her  often,  for  he 
was  a  college  student,  and  ere  I  was  aware  of  it,  I 
loved  him,  oh,  so  madly,  vainly  fancying  my  affection 
was  returned.  He  was  bashful,  I  thought,  for  he  was 
not  then  twenty -one,  and  by  way  of  rousing  him  to 
action,  I  trifled  with  another — with  Dr.  Kennedy" 
and  she  uttered  the  name  spitefully,  as  if  it  were  even 
now  hateful  to  her. 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it,"  returned  Maude,  "he  told 
me  that  when  he  first  talked  with  me  of  you,  but  I 
did  not  suppose  the  dark-eyed  student  was  my  father." 

"  It  was  none  other,"  said  Mrs.  Kennedy,  "  and  you 
can  form  some  conception  of  my  love  for  him,  when 
I  tell  you  that  it  has  never  died  away,  but  is  as  fresh 
within  my  heart  this  night,  as  when  I  walked  with 
him  upon  the  College  Green,  and  he  called  me  "  Cousin 
Maude,"  for  lie  gave  me  that  name  because  of  my 
fondness  for  Matty  and  he  sealed  it  with  a  kiss. 
Matty  was  present  at  that  time,  and  had  I  not 
been  blind,  I  should  have  seen  how  his  whole  soul 
was  bound  up  in  her,  even  while  kissing  me.  I 
regarded  her  as  a  child,  and  so  she  was,  but  men 
sometimes  love  children,  you  know.  "When  she  was 
fifteen,  she  left  New  Haven.  I,  too,  had  ceased  to  be 
a  school-girl,  but  I  still  remained  in  the  city  and  wrote 
to  her  regularly,  until  at  last,  your  father  came  to  me, 
and  with  the  light  of  a  great  joy  shining  all  over  his 
face,  told  me  she  was  to  be  his  bride  on  her  sixteenth 


188  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

birthday.  She  would  have  written  it  herself,  he  said, 
only  she  was  a  bashful  little  creature,  and  would  rather 
he  should  tell  me.  I  know  not  what  I  did  for  the 
blow  was  sudden,  and  took  my  senses  away.  He  had 
been  so  kind  to  me  of  late — had  visited  me  so  often 
that  my  heart  was  full  of  hope.  But  it  was  all  gone 
now.  Matty  Reed  was  preferred  to  me,  and  while  my 
Spanish  blood  boiled  at  the  fancied  indignity,  I  said 
many  a  harsh  thing  of  her — I  called  her  designing, 
deceitful,  and  false ;  and  then  in  my  frenzy  quitted  the 
room.  I  never  saw  Harry  again,  for  he  left  the  city 
next  morning  ;  but  to  my  dying  hour,  I  shall  not  forget 
the  expression  of  his  face,  when  I  talked  to  him  of 
Matty.  Turn  away,  Maude,  turn  away !  for  there  is 
the  same  look  now  upon  your  face.  But  I  have 
repented  of  that  act,  though  not  till  years  after.  I 
tore  up  Matty's  letters.  I  said  I  would  burn  the  soft 
brown  tress — 

"  Oh,  woman,  woman  !  you  did  not  burn  my  mother's 
hair ! "  and  with  a  shudder  Maude  unwound  the  arm 
which  so  closely  encircled  her. 

"  No,  Maude,  no.  I  couldn't.  It  would  not  leave 
my  fingers,  but  coiled  around  them  with  a  loving  grasp. 
I  have  it  now,  and  esteem  it  my  choicest  treasure. 
When  I  heard  that  you  were  born,  my  heart  softened 
toward  the  young  girl.  Mother  and  I  wrote,  asking 
that  Harry's  child  might  be  called  for  me.  I  did  not 
disguise  my  love  for  him,  and  I  said  it  would  be  some 
consolation  to  know  that  his  daughter  bore  my  name. 
My  letter  did  not  reach  them  until  you  had  been  bap 
tized  Mathilda,  which  was  the  name  of  your  mother 
and  grandmother,  but,  to  prove  their  goodness,  they 
ever  after  called  you  Maude." 

"  Then  I  was  named  foryow;  "  and  Maude  Remington 


COUSIN  MAUDE.  189 

came  back  to  the  embrace  of  Maude  Glendower,  who, 
kissing  her  white  brow,  continued :  "  Two  years  after 
ward  I  found  myself  in  Vernon,  stopping  for  a  night 
at  the  hotel.  "  I  will  see  them  in  the  morning,"  I  said 
— "  Harry,  Matty,  and  the  little  child  ; "  and  I  asked 
the  landlord  where  you  lived.  I  was  standing  upon 
the  stairs,  and  in  the  partial  darkness  he  could  not  see 
my  anguish,  when  he  replied,  "  Bless  you,  miss.  Harry 
Remington  died  a  fortnight  ago." 

"  How  I  reached  my  room  I  never  knew,  but  reach 
it  I  did,  and  half  an  hour  later  I  knelt  by  his  grave, 
where  I  wept  away  every  womanly  feeling  of  my 
heart,  and  then  went  back  to  the  giddy  world,  the 
gayest  of  the  gay.  I  did  not  seek  an  interview  with 
your  mother,  though  I  have  often  regretted  it  since. 
Did  she  never  speak  of  me  ?  Think.  Did  you  never 
hear  my  name  ?  " 

"  In  Yernon,  I  am  sure  I  did,"  answered  Maude, 
"  but  I  was  then  too  young  to  receive  a  very  vivid 
impression,  and  after  we  came  here,  mother,  I  fear,  was 
too  unhappy  to  talk  much  of  the  past." 

"  I  understand  it,"  answered  Maude  Glendower,  and 
over  her  fine  features  there  stole  a  hard,  dark  look,  as 
she  continued,  "  I  can  see  how  one  of  her  gentle  nature 
would  wither  and  die  in  this  atmosphere,  and  forgive 
me,  Maude,  she  never  loved  your  father  as  I  loved  him, 
for  had  he  called  me  wife,  I  should  never  have  been 
here. 

"  "What  made  you  come  ? "  asked  Maude  ;  and  the 
lady  answered,  "  For  Louis's  sake  and  yours  I  came.  I 
never  lost  sight  of  your  mother.  I  knew  she  married 
the  man  I  rejected,  and  from  my  inmost  soul  I  pitied 
her.  But  I  am  redressing  her  wrongs  and  those  of 
that  other  woman,  who  wore  her  life  away  within  these 


190  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

gloomy  walls.  Money  is  his  idol,  and  when  you  touch 
his  purse  you  touch  his  tenderest  point.  But  I  have 
opened  it,  and,  struggle  as  he  may,  it  shall  not  be 
closed  again." 

She  spoke  bitterly,  and  Maude  knew  that  Dr.  Ken 
nedy  had  more  than  met  his  equal  in  that  woman  of 
iron  will. 

"  I  should  have  made  a  splendid  carpenter,"  the  lady 
continued,  "  for  nothing  pleases  me  more  than  the 
sound  of  the  hammer  and  saw,  and  when  you  are  gone, 
I  shall  solace  myself  with  fixing  the  entire  house.  1 
must  have  excitement,  or  die  as  the  others  did." 

"  Maude — Mrs.  Kennedy,  do  you  know  what  time  it 
is  ? "  came  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  Mrs.  Ken 
nedy  answered,  "  It  is  one  o'clock,  I  believe." 

"  Then  why  are  you  sitting  up  so  late,  and  why  is 
that  lamp  left  burning  in  the  parlor,  with  four  tubes 
going  off  at  once  ?  It's  a  maxim  of  mine " 

"  Spare  your  maxims,  do.  I'm  coming  directly," 
and  kissing  the  blind  girl  affectionately,  Mrs.  Kennedy 
went  down  to  her  liege  lord,  whom  she  found  extin 
guishing  the  light,  and  gently  shaking  the  lamp  to  see 
how  much  fluid  had  been  uselessly  wasted. 

He  might  have  made  some  conjugal  remark,  but  the 
expression  of  her  face  forbade  anything  like  reproof, 
and  he  soon  found  use  for  his  powers  of  speech  in  the 
invectives  he  heaped  upon  the  long  rocker  of  the  chair 
over  which  he  stumbled  as  he  groped  his  way  back  to 
the  bedroom,  where  his  wife  rather  enjoyed,  than 
otherwise,  the  lamentations  which  he  made  over  his 
"  bruised  shin."  The  story  she  had  been  telling,  had 
awakened  many  bitter  memories  in  Maude  Glendower's 
bosom,  and  for  hours  she  turned  uneasily  from  side  to 
side,  trying  in  vain  to  sleep.  Maude  E-emington,  too, 


COUSIN  MAUDE.  191 

was  wakeful,  thinking  over  the  strange  tale  she  had 
heard,  and  marveling  that  her  life  should  be  so  closely 
interwoven  with  that  of  the  woman  whom  she  called 
her  mother. 

"  I  love  her  all  the  more,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  pity  her 
so,  staying  here  alone,  when  I  am  gone." 

Then  her  thoughts  turned  upon  the  future,  when  she 
would  be  the  wife  of  James  De  Yere,  and  while  won 
dering  if  she  should  really  ever  see  again,  she  fell 
asleep  just  as  the  morning  was  dimly  breaking  in  the 
east. 


192  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    SECOND    BRIDAL. 

AFTER  the  night  of  which  we  have  written,  the  tie 
of  affection  between  Mrs.  Kennedy  and  the  blind  girl 
was  stronger  than  before,  and  when  the  former  said 
to  her  husband,  "  Maude  must  have  an  outfit  worthy  of 
a  rich  man's  step-daughter,"  he  knew  by  the  tone  of 
her  voice  that  remonstrance  was  useless,  and  answered 
meekly,  "  I  will  do  what  is  right,  but  don't  be  too 
extravagant,  for  Nellie's  clothes  almost  ruined  me,  and 
I  had  to  pay  for  that  piano  yesterday.  Will  fifty 
dollars  do  ?  " 

"  Fifty  dollars  !  "  repeated  the  lady.  "  Are  you 
crazy  ?  "  Then,  touched  perhaps  by  the  submissive 
expression  of  his  face,  she  added,  u  As  Maude  is  blind, 
she  will  not  need  as  much  as  if  she  were  going  at  once 
into  society.  I'll  try  and  make  two  hundred  dollars 
answer,  though  that  will  purchase  but  a  meagre  trous 
seau" 

Mrs.  Kennedy's  pronunciation  of  French  was  not  al 
ways  correct,  and  John,  who  chanced  to  be  within 
hearing,  caught  eagerly  at  the  last  word,  exclaiming, 
"Ki!  dem  trouses  must  cost  a  heap  sight  mor'n  mine! 
What  dis  nigger  spec'  'em  can  be?"  and  he  glanced 
ruefully  at  his  own  glazed  pants  of  corduroy,  which  had 
done  him  service  for  two  or  three  years. 

Maude  was  a  great  favorite  with  John,  and  when  he 
heard  that  she  was  going  away  forever,  he  went  up  to 


A  SECOND  BRIDAL.  193 

the  woodshed  chamber  where  no  one  could  see  him, 
and  seating  himself  upon  a  pile  of  old  shingles,  which 
had  been  put  there  for  kindling,  he  cried  like  a  child. 

"  It'll  be  mighty  lonesome,  knowin'  she's  gone  for 
good,"  he  said,  "  for,  though  she'll  come  back  agin, 
she'll  be  married,  and  when  a  gal  is  married,  that's  the 
last  on  'em.  I  wish  I  could  give  her  somethin',  to 
show  her  my  feelin's." 

He  examined  his  hands,  they  were  hard,  rough,  and 
black.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  bit  of  looking-glass, 
and  examined  his  face — that  was  blacker  yet;  and 
shaking  his  head,  he  whispered :  "  It  might  do  for  a 
mulatto  gal,  but  not  for  her."  Then,  as  a  new  idea 
crossed  his  mind,  he  brightened  up,  exclaiming,  "  My 
heart  is  white,  and  if  I  have  a  tip- top  case,  mebby  she 
Avon't  'spise  a  poor  old  nigger's  picter  !  " 

In  short,  John  contemplated  having  his  daguerreo 
type  taken  as  a  bridal  present  for  Maude.  Accordingly, 
that  very  afternoon,  he  arrayed  himself  in  his  best,  and, 
entering  the  yellow  car  of  a  traveling  artist,  who  had 
recently  come  to  the  village,  he  was  soon  in  possession 
of  a  splendid  case,  and  a  picture  which  he  pronounced 
"  oncommon  good-lookin'  for  him." 

This  he  laid  carefully  away,  until  the  wedding-day, 
which  was  fixed  for  the  15th  of  April.  When  Mr.  De 
Yere  heard  of  John's  generosity  to  Maude  in  giving 
her  the  golden  eagles,  he  promptly  paid  them  back, 
adding  five  more  as  interest,  and  at  the  same  time 
asking  him  if  he  would  not  like  to  accompany  them  to 
Europe. 

"  You  can  be  of  great  assistance  to  us,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  will  gladly  take  you." 

This  was  a  strong  temptation,  and  for  a  moment  the 
negro  hesitated,  but  when  his  eye  fell  upon  his  master 


194  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

who  was  just  then  entering  the  gate,  his  decision  was 
taken,  and  he  answered,  "  No,  I'm  'bleeged  to  you.  I'd 
rather  stay  and  see  the  fun." 

"  What  fun  ? "  asked  Mr.  De  Vere ;  and  John  re 
plied,  "  The  fun  of  seem'  him  cotch  it ; "  and  he  pointed 
to  the  doctor  coming  slowly  up  the  walk,  his  hands 
behind  him  and  his  head  bent  forward  in  a  musing 
attitude. 

Dr.  Kennedy  was  at  that  moment  in  an  unenviable 
frame  of  mind,  for  he  was  trying  to  decide  whether  he 
could  part  for  a  year  or  more  with  his  crippled  boy, 
who  grew  each  day  more  dear  to  him. 

"  It  will  do  him  good,  I  know,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
might,  perhaps,  consent,  if  I  could  spare  the  money, 
but  I  can't  for  I  haven't  got  it.  That  woman  keeps  me 
penniless,  and  will  wheedle  me  out  of  two  hundred 
dollars  more.  Oh,  Mat " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  by  this  time  he 
had  reached  the  hall,  where  he  met  Mr.  De  Vere,  who 
asked  if  Louis  was  to  go. 

"  He  can't,"  answered  the  doctor.  "  I  have  not  the 
means.  Mrs.  Kennedy  says  Maude's  wardrobe  will 
cost  two  hundred  dollars." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  interrupted  Mr.  De  Yere.  "  I  shall 
attend  to  Maude's  wants  myself,  and  if  you  are  not  able 
to  bear  Louis's  expenses,  I  will  willingly  do  it  for  the 
sake  of  having  him  with  his  sister.  They  ought  not  to 
be  separated,  and  who  knows  but  Louis's  deformity 
may  be  in  a  measure  relieved  ?  " 

This  last  decided  the  matter.  Louis  should  go, 
even  though,  his  father  mortgaged  his  farm  to  pay  the 
bill,  and  during  the  few  weeks  which  elapsed  before  the 
15th,  the  house  presented  an  air  of  bustle  and  confusion, 
equal  to  that  which  preceded  Nellie's  bridal.  Mr.  De 


A  SECOND  BRIDAL.  195 

Yere  remained  firm  in  his  intention  to  defray  all 
Maude's  expenses,  and  he  delegated  to  Mrs.  Kennedy 
the  privilege  of  purchasing  whatever  she  thought  was 
needful.  Her  selections  were  usually  in  good  taste, 
and  in  listening  to  her  enthusiastic  praises,  Maude  en 
joyed  her  new  dresses  almost  as  much  as  if  she  had 
really  seen  them.  A  handsome  plain  silk  of  blue  and 
brown  was  decided  upon  for  a  traveling  dress,  and  very 
sweetly  the  blind  girl  looked  when,  arrayed  in  her 
simple  attire,  she  stood  before  the  man  of  God,  whose 
words  were  to  make  her  a  happy  bride.  She  could  not 
see  the  sunlight  of  Spring  streaming  into  the  room, 
neither  could  she  see  the  sunlight  of  love  shining  over 
the  face  of  James  De  Vere,  nor  yet  the  earnest  gaze  of 
those  who  thought  her  so  beautiful  in  her  helplessness, 
but  she  could  feel  it  all,  and  the  long  eyelashes  resting 
on  her  cheek  were  wet  with  tears,  when  a  warm  kiss 
was  pressed  upon  her  lips,  and  a  voice  murmured  in  her 
ear,  "  My  wife — my  darling  Maude." 

There  were  bitter  tears  shed  at  that  parting ;  Maude 
Glendower  weeping  passionately  over  the  child  of 
Harry  Remington,  and  Doctor  Kennedy  hugging  to 
his  bosom  the  little  hunchback  boy,  Matty's  boy  and 
his.  They  might  never  meet  again,  and  the  father's 
heart  clung  fondly  to  his  only  son.  He  could  not  even 
summon  to  his  aid  a  maxim  with  which  to  season  his 
farewell,  and  bidding  a  kind  good-by  to  Maude,  he 
sought  the  privacy  of  his  chamber,  where  he  could 
weep  alone  in  his  desolation. 

Hannah  and  John  grieved  to  part  with  the  travelers, 
but  the  latter  was  somewhat  consoled  by  the  gracious 
manner  with  which  Maude  had  accepted  his  gift. 

"  I  cannot  see  it,"  she  said,  "  but  when  I  open  the 
casing  I  shall  know  your  kind,  honest  face  is  there, 


196  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

and   it  will  bring    me    many   pleasant  memories  of 
you." 

"Heaven  bless  you,  Miss  Maude,"  answered  John, 
struggling  hard  to  keep  back  the  tears  he  deemed  it 
unmanly  to  shed.  "  Heaven  bless  you,  but  if  you  keep 
talking  so  book-like  and  good,  I'll  bust  out  a  cryin',  I 
know,  for  I'm  not  hi  n'  but  an  old  fool  anyhow,"  and 
wringing  her  hand,  he  hurried  off  into  the  woodshed 
chamber,  where  he  could  give  free  vent  to  his  grief. 


Through  the  harbor,  down  the  bay,  and  out  upon  the 
sea,  a  noble  vessel  rides  ;  and  as  the  evening  wind 
comes  dancing  over  the  wave,  it  sweeps  across  the  deck, 
kissing  the  cheek  of  a  brown-eyed  boy,  and  lifting  the 
curls  from  the  brow  of  one,  whose  face,  upturned  to  the 
tall  man  at  her  side,  seems  almost  angelic,  so  calm,  so 
peaceful  is  its  expression  of  perfect  bliss.  Many  have 
gazed  curiously  upon  that  group,  and  the  voices  were 
very  low  which  said,  "  The  little  boy  is  deformed," 
while  there  was  a  world  of  sadness  in  the  whisper, 
which  told  to  the  wondering  passengers  that  "  the 
beautiful  bride  was  blind." 

They  knew  it  by  the  constant  drooping  of  her  eyelids, 
by  the  graceful  motion  of  her  hand  as  it  groped  in  the 
air,  and  more  than  all,  by  the  untiring  watchfulness  of 
the  husband  and  brother  who  constantly  hovered  near. 
It  seemed  terrible  that  so  fair  a  creature  should  be 
blind ;  and  like  the  throb  of  one  great  heart  did  the 
sympathy  of  that  vessel's  crew  go  out  toward  the  gentle 
Maude,  who,  in  her  new-born  happiness,  forgot  almost 
the  darkness  of  the  world  without,  or  if  she  thought 
of  it,  looked  for  ward  to  a  time  when  hope  said  that  she 
should  see  again.  So,  leaving  her  upon  the  sea,  speed- 


A  SECOND  BRIDAL.  197 

ing  away  to  sunny  France,  we  glance  backward  for  a 
moment  to  the  lonely  house  where  Maude  Glendower 
mourns  for  Harry's  child,  and  where  the  father  thinks 
often  of  his  boy,  listening  in  vain  for  the  sound  which 
once  was  hateful  to  his  ear,  the  sound  of  Louis's 
crutches. 

Neither  does  John  forget  the  absent  ones,  but  in  the 
garden,  in  the  barn,  in  the  fields,  and  the  woodshed 
chamber,  he  prays  in  his  mongrel  dialect,  that  He 
who  holds  the  wind  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand,  will 
give  to  the  treacherous  deep  charge  concerning  the 
precious  freight  it  bears.  He  does  not  say  it  in  those 
words,  but  his  untutored  language,  coming  from  a 
pure  heart,  is  heard  by  the  Most  High.  And  so  the 
breeze  blows  gently  o'er  the  bark  thus  followed  by 
black  John's  prayers — the  skies  look  brightly  down, 
upon  it — the  blue  waves  ripple  at  its  side,  until  at  last 
it  sails  into  its  destined  port ;  and  when  the  apple- 
blossoms  are  dropping  from  the  trees,  and  old  Hannah 
lays  upon  the  grass  to  bleach  the  fanciful  white-spread 
which  her  own  hands  have  knit  for  Maude,  there 
comes  a  letter  to  the  lonely  household,  telling  them 
that  the  feet  of  those  they  love  have  reached  the  shores 
of  the  old  world. 


198  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


OHAPTEE  XX. 

THE    SEXTON. 

THE  Methodist  Society  of  Laurel  Hill  had  built 
them  a  new  church  upon  the  corner  of  the  common, 
and  as  a  mark  of  respect,  had  made  Black  John  their 
sexton.  Perfectly  delighted  with  the  office,  he  dis 
charged  his  duties  faithfully,  particularly  the  ringing 
of  the  bell,  in  which  accomplishment  he  greatly  ex 
celled  his  Episcopal  rival,  who  tried  to  imitate  his 
peculiar  style  in  vain.  No  one  could  make  such  music 
as  the  negro,  or  ring  so  many  changes.  In  short,  it 
was  conceded  that  on  great  occasions  he  actually  made 
the  old  bell  talk;  and  one  day,  toward  the  last  of 
September,  and  five  months  after  the  events  of  the 
preceding  chapter,  an  opportunity  was  presented  for 
a  display  of  his  skill. 

The  afternoon  was  warm  and  sultry,  and,  overcome 
by  the  heat,  the  village  loungers  had  disposed  of  them 
selves,  some  on  the  long  piazza  of  the  hotel,  and  others 
in  front  of  the  principal  store,  where,  with  elevated 
heels  and  busy  jackknives,  they  whittled  out  shapeless 
things,  or  made  remarks  concerning  any  luckless 
female  who  chanced  to  pass.  While  thus  engaged, 
they  were  startled  by  a  loud,  sharp  ring  from  the 
belfry  of  the  Methodist  church,  succeeded  by  a  merry 
peal,  which  seemed  to  proclaim  some  joyful  event.  It 
was  a  musical,  rollicking  ring,  consisting  of  three  rapid 
strokes,  the  last  prolonged  a  little,  as  if  to  give  it 
emphasis. 


THE  SEXTOK  199 

"  What's  up  now  ? "  the  loungers  said  to  each 
other,  as  the  three  strokes  were  repeated  in  rapid 
succession.  "  What's  got  into  John  ?  "  and  those  who 
were  fortunate  enough  to  own  houses  in  the  village, 
went  into  the  street  to  assure  themselves  there  was 
no  fire. 

"  It  can't  be  a  toll,"  they  said.  "  It's  too  much  like 
a  dancing  tune  for  that,"  and  as  the  sound  continued 
they  walked  rapidly  to  the  church,  where  they  found 
the  African  bending  himself  with  might  and  main  to 
his  task,  the  perspiration  dripping  from  his  sable  face, 
which  was  all  aglow  with  happiness. 

It  was  no  common  occasion  which  had  thus  affected 
John,  and  to  the  eager  questioning  of  his  audience  he 
replied,  "  Can't  you  hear  the  ding — dong — de-el.  Don't 
you  know  what  it  says  ?  Listen  now,"  and  the  bell 
again  rang  forth  the  three  short  sounds.  But  the  crowd 
still  professed  their  ignorance,  and,  pausing  a  moment, 
John  said,  with  a  deprecating  manner  :  "  I'll  tell  you 
the  first  word,  and  you'll  surely  guess  the  rest  :  it's 
1  MAUDE.'  Kow  try  'em,"  and  wiping  the  sweat  from 
his  brow  he  turned  again  to  his  labor  of  love,  nodding 
his  head  with  every  stroke. 

"  No  ear  at  all  for  music,"  he  muttered,  as  he  saw 
they  were  as  mystified  as  ever,  and  in  a  loud,  clear 
voice,  he  sang, ;'  MAUDE  CAN-SEE-E  !  MAUDE  CAN-SEE-E  ! !  " 

It  was  enough.  Most  of  that  group  had  known  and 
respected  the  blind  girl,  and  joining  at  once  in  the 
negro's  enthusiasm,  they  sent  up  a  deafening  shout  for 
"  Maude  De  Vere,  restored  to  sight." 

John's  face  at  that  moment  was  a  curiosity,  so  divided 
was  it  between  smiles  and  tears,  the  latter  of  which 
won  the  mastery,  as  with  the  last  hurrah  the  bell  gave 
one  tremendous  crash,  and  he  sank  exhausted  upon  the 


200  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

floor,  saying  to  those  who  gathered  round,  "  Will  'em 
hear  that,  think,  in  France  ?  " 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  true?"  asked  one,  and 
John  replied,  "  she  writ  her  own  self  to  tell  it,  and 
sent  her  love  to  me  •  think  of  dat — sent  her  love  to  an 
old  nigger  ! "  and  John  glanced  at  the  bell,  as  if  he 
intended  a  repetition  of  the  rejoicings. 

Surely  Maude  De  Yere,  across  the  sea,  never  re 
ceived  a  greater  tribute  of  respect  than  was  paid  to 
her  that  day  by  the  warm-hearted  John,  who,  the 
moment  he  heard  the  glad  news,  sped  away  to  pro 
claim  it  from  the  church-tower.  The  letter  had  come 
that  afternoon,  and,  as  John  said,  was  written  by 
Maude  herself.  The  experiment  had  been  performed 
weeks  before,  but  she  would  wait  until  assurance  was 
doubly  sure,  ere  she  sent  home  the  joyful  tidings.  It 
was  a  wonderful  cure,  for  the  chance  of  success  was 
small,  but  the  efforts  used  in  her  behalf  had  succeeded, 
and  she  could  see  again. 

"  But  what  of  Louis  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Kennedy,  who 
was  listening  while  his  wife  read  to  him  the  letter. 
"What  of  Louis?  Have  they  done  anything  for 
him?" 

"They  had  tried,  but  his  deformity  could  not  be 
helped,"  and  with  a  pang  of  disappointment  the  father 
was  turning  away,  when  something  caught  his  ear, 
which  caused  him  to  listen  again. 

"  You  don't  know,"  Maude  wrote,  "  how  great  a 
lion  Louis  is  getting  to  be.  He  painted  a  picture  of 
me  just  as  I  looked  that  dreadful  morning  when  I 
stood  in  the  sunshine  and  felt  that  I  was  blind.  It  is 
a  strange,  wild  thing,  but  its  wildness  is  relieved  by 
the  angel-faced  boy  who  looks  up  at  me  so  pityingly. 
Louis  is  perfect,  but  Maude — oh !  I  can  scarce  believe 


THE  SEXTOK  201 

that  she  ever  wore  that  expression  of  fierce  despair. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  picture  took  the  fancy  of 
the  excitable  French,  and  ere  Louis  was  aware  of  it,  he 
found  himself  famous.  They  come  to  our  rooms  daily 
to  see  le  petit  artist,  and  many  ask  for  pictures  or 
sketches,  for  which  they  pay  an  exorbitant  price.  One 
wealthy  American  gentleman  brought  him  a  daguerreo 
type  of  his  dead  child,  with  the  request  that  he  would 
paint  from  it  a  life-sized  portrait,  and  if  he  succeed  in 
getting  a  natural  face,  he  is  to  receive  five  hundred 
dollars.  Think  of  little  Louis  Kennedy  earning  five 
hundred  dollars,  for  he  will  succeed.  The  daguerreotype 
is  much  like  Nellie,  which  will  make  it  easier  for  Louis." 

This  was  very  gratifying  to  Dr.  Kennedy,  who  that 
day  more  than  once  repeated  to  himself,  "  Five  hundred 
dollars :  it's  a  great  deal  of  money  for  him  to  earn ; 
maybe  he'll  soon  be  able  to  help  me,  and  mercy  knows 
I  shall  soon  need  it  if  that  woman  continues  her  un 
heard  of  extravagances.  More  city  company  to-mor 
row,  and  I  heard  her  this  morning  tell  that  Jezebel  in 
the  kitchen  to  put  the  whites  of  sixteen  eggs  into  one 
loaf  of  cake.  What  am  I  coming  to  ?  "  and  Dr.  Ken 
nedy  groaned  in  spirit  as  he  walked  through  the  hand 
some  apartments,  seeking  in  vain  for  a  place  where  he 
could  sit  and  have  it  seem  as  it  used  to  do,  when  the 
rocking-chair  which  Matty  had  brought  stood  invit 
ingly  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  where  now  a  center- 
table  was  standing,  covered  with  books  and  ornaments 
of  the  most  expensive  kind. 

Since  last  we  looked  in  upon  her  Maude  Glendower 
had  ruled  with  a  high  hand.  She  could  not  live  with 
out  excitement,  and  rallying  from  her  grief  at  parting 
with  her  child,  she  plunged  at  once  into  repairs,  tear 
ing  down  and  building  up,  while  her  husband  looked 


202  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

on  in  dismay.  When  they  were  about  it,  she  said,  they 
might  as  well  have  all  the  modern  improvements,  and 
water,  both  hot  and  cold,  was  accordingly  carried  to 
all  the  sleeping  apartments,  the  fountain-head  being  a 
large  spring,  distant  from  the  house  nearly  half  a  mile. 
Gas  she  could  not  have,  though  the  doctor  would 
hardly  have  been  surprised  had  she  ordered  the  laying 
of  pipes  from  Rochester  to  Z,aurel  Hill,  so  utterly  reck 
less  did  she  seem.  She  was  fond  of  company,  and  as 
she  had  visited  everybody,  so  everybody  in  return 
must  visit  her,  she  said,  and  toward  the  last  of  summer 
she  filled  the  house  with  city  people,  who  vastly  en 
joyed  the  good  cheer  with  which  her  table  was  always 
spread. 

John's  desire  to  see  the  fun  was  more  than  satisfied, 
as  was  also  Hannah's,  and  after  the  receipt  of  Maude's 
letter,  the  latter  determined  to  write  herself,  "  and  let 
Miss  De  Yere  know  just  how  things  was  managed." 
In  order  to  do  this,  it  was  necessary  to  employ  an 
amanuensis,  and  she  enlisted  the  services  of  the 
gardener,  who  wrote  her  exact  language,  a  mixture 
of  negro,  Southern,  and  Yankee.  A  portion  of  this 
letter  we  give  to  the  reader. 

After  expressing  her  pleasure  that  Maude  could  see, 
and  saying  that  she  believed  the  new  Miss  to  be  a 
good  woman,  but  a  mighty  queer  one,  she  continued  : — 

"  The  doin's  here  is  wonderful,  and  you'd  hardly 
know  the  old  place.  Thar's  a  big  dining-room  run  out 
to  the  South,  with  an  expansion-table  mighty  nigh  a 
rod  long,  and  what's  more,  it's  allus  full,  too,  of  city 
stuck-ups — and  the  way  they  do  eat !  I  haint  churned 
nary  pound  of  butter  since  you  went  away.  Why, 
bless  yer  soul,  we  has  to  buy.  Do  you  mind  that  patch 
of  land  what  the  Doctor  used  to  plant  with  corn  ? 


THE  SEXTOK  203 

Well,  the  garden  sass  grows  there  now,  and  t'other 
garden  raises  nothin'  but  flowers  and  strabries,  and 
thar's  a  man  hired  on  purpose  to  tend  'em.  He's  writ- 
in'  this  for  me.  Thar's  a  tower  run  up  in  the  North 
east  eend,  and  when  it's  complete,  she's  goin'  to  have 
a  what  you  call  'em — somethin'  that  blows  up  the 
water — oh,  a  fountain.  Thar's  one  in  the  yard,  and,  if 
you'll  believe  it,  she's  got  one  of  Gary's  rotary  pumpin' 
things,  that  folks  are  runnin'  crazy  about,  and  ever}r 
hot  day  she  keeps  John  a  turnin'  the  injin'  to  squirt 
the  Avater  all  over  the  yard,  and  make  it  seem  like  a 
thunder-shower !  Thar's  a  bath-room,  and  when  them 
city  folks  is  here  some  on  'em  is  a  washin'  in  thar  all 
the  time.  I  don't  do  nothin'  now  but  wash  and  iron, 
and  if  I  have  fifty  towels  I  have  one  !  But  what 
pesters  me  most  is  the  wide  skirts  I  has  to  do  up  ;  Miss 
Canady  wears  a  hoop  bigger  than  an  amberell.  They 
say  Miss  Empress,  who  makes  these  things,  lives  in 
Paris,  and  I  wish  you'd  put  yourself  out  a  little  to  see 
her,  and  ask  her,  for  me,  to  quit  sendin'  over  them 
fetched  hoops.  Thar  ain't  no  sense  in  it !  "We've  got 
jiggers  in  every  chamber  where  the  water  spirts  out. 
Besides  turnin'  the  injin,  John  drives  the  horses  in  the 
new  carriage.  Dr.  Canady  looks  poorly,  and  yet 
madam  purrs  round  him  like  a  kitten,  but  I  knows  the 
claws  is  thar.  She's  about  broke  him  of  usin'  them 
maxims  of  his,  and  your  poor  marm  would  enjoy  it  a 
spell  seein'  him  paid  off,  but  she'd  pity  him  after  a 
while.  I  do,  and  if  things  continners  to  grow  wus,  I 
shall  just  ask  pra'rs  for  him  in  my  meetin'.  Elder 
Blossom  is  powerful  at  that.  My  health  is  consider 
able  good,  but  I  find  I  grow  old. 

"  Yours,  with  respect  and  regrets, 

"  HANNAH." 


204  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

"  P.  S. — I  don't  believe  that  t'other  beau  of  yourn  is 
none  the  happiest.  They  live  with  Miss  Kelsey  yet, 
but  thar's  a  story  round  that  she's  a  gwine  to  marry 
again,  and  the  man  don't  like  De  Yere,  and  won't  have 
him  thar,  so  if  the  doctor  should  run  out,  as  I'm  afraid 
he  will,  what'll  them  lazy  critters  do  ?  Nellie's  got  to 
be  kinder  sozzlin'  in  her  dress,  and  he  has  took  to 
chawin'  tobacker  by  the  pound.  They  was  here  a  spell 
ago,  and  deaf  as  I  be,  I  hearn  'em  have  one  right 
smart  quarrel.  He  said  she  was  slatterly,  or  somethin' 
like  that,  and  she  called  him  a  fool,  and  said  she  'most 
knew  he  wished  he'd  took  you,  blind  as  you  was,  and 
he  said,  kinder  sorroy-like,  "  Maude  would  never  of 
called  me  a  fool,  nor  wore  such  holes  in  the  heels  of 
her  stockin's."  I  couldn't  hear  no  more,  but  I  knew 
by  her  voice  that  she  was  cryin',  and  when  I  went  be 
low  and  seen  the  doctor  out  behind  the  wood-shed  a 
figgerin'  up,  says  I  to  myself,  "  ef  I  was  a  Univarselar, 
I  should  b'lieve  they  was  all  on  'em  a  gittin  thar  pay," 
but  bein'  I'm  a  Methodis',  I  don't  believe  nothin'." 

This  letter,  which  conveyed  to  Maude  a  tolerably 
correct  idea  of  matters  at  home,  will  also  show  to  the 
reader  the  state  of  feeling  existing  between  J.  C.  and 
Nellie.  They  were  not  suited  to  each  other,  and 
though  married  but  seven  months,  there  had  been 
many  a  quarrel  besides  the  one  which  Hannah  over 
heard.  Nellie  demanded  of  her  husband  more  love 
than  he  had  to  bestow,  and  the  consequence  was,  a 
feeling  of  bitter  jealousy  on  her  part  and  an  increas 
ing  coldness  on  his.  They  were  an  ill-assorted  couple, 
utterly  incapable  of  taking  care  of  themselves,  and 
when  they  heard  from  Mrs.  Kelsey  that  she  really  con 
templated  a  second  marriage,  they  looked  forward  to 


THE  SEXTON.  205 

the  future  with  a  kind  of  hopeless  apathy,  wholly  at 
variance  with  the  feelings  of  the  beautiful,  dark-eyed 
Maude,  and  the  noble  James  De  Yere. 

Their  love  for  each  other  had  increased  each  day,  and 
their  happiness  seemed  almost  greater  than  they  could 
bear  on  that  memorable  morn  when  the  husband  bent 
fondly  over  his  young  girl-wife,  who  laid  a  hand  on 
each  side  of  his  face,  and  while  the  great  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks,  whispered  joyfully,  "  I  can  see  you, 
darling ;  I  can  see  ! " 


206  COUSIN  MAUDE. 


CHAPTEK  XXI. 

HOME    AGAIN. 

LITTLE  more  than  two  years  have  passed  away  since 
the  September  afternoon  when  the  deep-toned  bell 
rang  out  the  merry  tidings,  "  Maude  can  see — Maude 
can  see,"  and  again  upon  the  billow  another  vessel 
rides.  But  this  time  to  the  -westward ;  and  the  beauti 
ful  lady,  whose  soft,  dark  eyes  look  eagerly  over  the 
wave,  says  to  her  companion,  "  It  is  very  pleasant  go 
ing  home." 

They  had  tarried  for  a  long  time  in  Italy,  both  for 
Louis'  sake,  and  because,  after  the  recovery  of  her 
sight,  Maude's  health  had  been  delicate,  and  her  hus 
band  would  stay  until  it  was  fully  re-established.  She 
was  better  now  ; — roses  were  blooming  on  her  cheek — 
joy  was  sparkling  in  her  eye — while  her  bounding  step, 
her  ringing  laugh,  and  finely  rounded  form,  told  of 
youthful  vigor  and  perfect  health.  And  they  were  go 
ing  home  at  last — James,  Louis,  and  Maude — going  to 
Hampton,  where  Mrs.  De  Vere  waited  so  anxiously 
their  coming.  She  did  not,  however,  expect  them  so 
soon,  for  they  had  left  England  earlier  than  they  antici 
pated,  and  they  surprised  her  one  day,  as  she  sat  by 
her  pleasant  window,  gazing  out  upon  the  western  sky, 
and  wondering  how  many  more  suns  would  set  ere  her 
children  would  be  with  her.  It  was  a  happy  meeting : 
and  after  the  first  joy  of  it  was  over,  Maude  inquired 
after  the  people  at  Laurel  Hill. 


HOME  AGAIN.  207 

"  It  is  more  than  four  months  since  we  heard  from 
them,"  she  said,  "  and  then  Mrs.  Kennedy's  letter  was 
very  unsatisfactory.  The  doctor,  she  hinted,  had  lost 
his  senses,  but  she  made  no  explanation.  "What  did  she 
mean  ? " 

«  Why,"  returned  Mrs.  De  Yere,  "  he  had  a  paralytic 
shock  more  than  six  months  ago." 

"  Oh,  poor  father,"  cried  Louis,  while  Mrs.  De  Vere 
continued,  "  It  was  not  a  severe  attack,  but  it  has  im 
paired  his  health  somewhat.  You  knew  of  course,  that 
his  house  and  farm  were  to  be  sold  in  a  few  days." 

"  Our  house — our  old  home — it  shall  not  be ; "  and 
the  tears  glittered  in  Louis's  eyes,  while,  turning  to 
Mrs.  De  Yere,  Maude  whispered  softly,  "  His  wife  has 
ruined  him,  but  don't  let  us  talk  of  it  before  Louis." 

The  lady  nodded,  and  when  at  last  they  were  alone, 
told  all  she  knew  of  the  affair.  Maude  Glendowerhad 
persisted  in  her  folly,  until  her  husband's  property  was 
reduced  to  a  mere  pittance.  There  wras  a  heavy  mort 
gage  upon  the  farm,  and  even  a  chattel-mortgage  upon 
the  furniture,  and  as  the  man  who  held  them  was  stern 
and  unrelenting,  he  had  foreclosed,  and  the  house  was 
to  be  sold  at  auction. 

"  "Why  has  mother  kept  it  from  us  ?  "  said  Maude, 
and  Mrs.  De  Yere  replied,  "  Pride  and  a  dread  of  what 
you  might  say,  prevented  her  writing  it,  I  think.  I 
was  there  myself  a  few  weeks  since,  and  she  said  it 
could  do  no  good  to  trouble  you.  The  doctor  is  com 
pletely  broken  down,  and  seems  like  an  old  man.  He 
cannot  endure  the  handsome  rooms  below,  but  stays  all 
day  in  that  small  garret  chamber,  which  is  furnished 
with  your  carpet,  your  mother's  chair,  and  the  high- 
post  bedstead  which  his  first  wife  owned.  It  made  me 
cry  when  he  pointed  them  out  to  me,  saying  so  mourn- 


208  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

fully,  '  This  is  Maude's,  this  was  Matty's,  and  that  was 
Katy's  once.' " 

Maude's  sympathies  were  roused,  and  fatigued  as  she 
was,  she  started  the  next  morning  with  her  husband 
and  brother  for  Laurel  Hill.  Louis  seemed  very  sad, 
and  not  even  the  familiar  waymarks,  as  he  drew  near 
his  home,  had  power  to  dissipate  that  sadness.  He 
could  not  endure  the  thought  that  the  house  where  he 
was  born  and  where  his  mother  had  died,  should  pass 
into  the  hands  of  strangers.  He  had  been  fortunate 
with  his  paintings,  and  of  his  own  money  had  nearly 
two  thousand  dollars  ;  but  this  could  do  but  little  toward 
canceling  the  mortgage,  and  he  continued  in  the  same 
dejected  mood  until  the  tall  poplars  of  Laurel  Hill  ap 
peared  in  view.  Then,  indeed,  he  brightened  up,  for 
there  is  something  in  the  sight  of  home  which  brings 
joy  to  every  human  heart. 

It  was  a  hazy  October  day.  The  leaves  were  drop 
ping  one  by  one,  and  lay  in  little  hillocks  upon  the 
faded  grass.  The  blue  hills  which  embosomed  the  lake 
•were  encircled  with  a  misty  veil,  while  the  sunshine 
seemed  to  fall  with  a  sombre  light  upon  the  fields  of  yel 
low  corn.  Every  thing,  even  the  gossamer  thistle-top 
which  floated  upon  the  autumnal  air,  conspired  to  make 
the  day  one  of  those  indescribable  days,  when  all  hearts 
are  pervaded  with  a  feeling  of  pleasurable  sadness — a 
sense  of  beauty  mingled  with  decay. 

"  Is  this  home  ? "  cried  Maude,  as  they  stopped 
before  the  gate.  "  I  should  hardly  have  recognized 
it." 

It  was  indeed  greatly  changed,  for  Maude  Glen- 
dower  had  perfect  taste,  and  if  she  had  expended  thou 
sands  upon  the  place,  she  had  greatly  increased  its 
value. 


HOME  AGAIN.  209 

"  Beautiful  home,  beautiful  home — it  must  not  be 
sold,"  was  Louis's  exclamation  as  he  gazed  upon  it. 

"  No,  it  must  not  be  sold,"  returned  Maude,  while 
her  husband  smiled  quietly  upon  them  both,  and  said 
nothing. 

Maude  Giendower  had  gone  to  an  adjoining  town, 
but  Hannah  and  John  greeted  the  strangers  with  noisy 
demonstrations,  the  latter  making  frequent  use  of  his 
coat  skirts  to  wipe  away  his  tears. 

"  Can  you  see,  marm — see  me  as  true  as  you  live  ?  " 
he  said,  bowing  with  great  humility  to  Maude,  of  whom 
he  stood  a  little  in  awe,  so  polished  were  her  manners, 
and  so  elegant  her  appearance. 

Maude  assured  him  that  she  could,  and  then  observ 
ing  how  impatient  Louis  appeared,  she  asked  for  Dr. 
Kennedy.  Assuming  a  mysterious  air,  old  Hannah 
whispered,  "  He's  up  in  de  ruff,  at  de  top  of  de  house, 
in  dat  little  charmber,  where  he  stays  mostly,  to  get 
shet  of  de  music  and  dancin'  and  raisin'  ob  Cain  gener 
ally.  He's  mighty  broke  down,  but  the  sight  of  you 
will  peart  him  up  right  smart.  You'd  better  go  up 
alone — he'll  bar  it  better  one  at  a  time." 

"  Yes,  go,  sister,"  said  Louis,  who  heard  the  last  part 
of  Hannah's  remarks,  and  felt  that  he  could  not  take 
his  father  by  surprise. 

So,  leaving  her  husband  and  brother  below,  Maude 
glided  noiselessly  up-stairs  to  the  low  attic  room,  where, 
by  an  open  window,  gazing  sorrowfully  out  upon  the 
broad  harvest-fields,  soon  to  be  no  longer  his,  a  seem 
ingly  old  man  sat.  And  Dr.  Kennedy  was  old,  not  in 
years,  perhaps,  but  in  appearance.  His  hair  had 
bleached  as  white  as  snow,  his  form  was  bent,  his 
face  was  furrowed  with  many  a  line  of  care,  while 
the  tremulous  motion  of  his  head  told  of  the  palsy's 


210  COUSIN  MAUDE.  , 

blighting  power.  And  he  sat  there  alone,  that  hazy 
autumnal  day,  shrinking  from  the  future,  and  musing 
sadly  of  the  past.  From  his  arm-chair  the  top  of  a 
willow-tree  was  just  discernible,  and  as  he  thought 
of  the  two  graves  beneath  that  tree,  he  moaned,  "  Oh, 
Katy,  Matty,  darlings.  You  would  pity  me,  I  know, 
could  you  see  me  now  so  lonesome.  My  only  boy  is 
over  the  sea — my  only  daughter  is  selfish  and  cold, 
and  all  the  day  I'm  listening  in  vain  for  some  one  to 
call  me  father." 

"  Father  !  "  The  name  dropped  involuntarily  from 
the  lips  of  Maude  De  Yere,  standing  without  the  door. 

But  he  did  not  hear  it,  and  she  could  not  say  it  again, 
for  he  was  not  her  father ;  but  her  heart  was  moved 
with  sympathy,  and  going  to  his  side,  she  laid  her 
hands  upon  his  snowy  hair,  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"  Maude — Matty's  Maude — my  Maude !  "  And  the 
poor  head  shook  with  a  palsied  tremor,  as  he  wound 
his  arms  around  her,  and  asked  her  when  she  came. 

Her  sudden  coming  unmanned  him  wholly,  and 
bending  over  her  he  wept  like  a  little  child.  It  would 
seem  that  her  presence  inspired  in  him  a  sense  of  pro 
tection,  a  longing  to  detail  his  grievances,  and  with 
quivering  lips  he  said,  "  I  am  broken  in  body  and  mind. 
I've  nothing  to  call  my  own,  nothing  but  a  lock  of 
Matty's  hair  and  Louis's  little  crutches — the  crutches 
that  you  cushioned  so  that  I  should  not  hear  their 
sound.  I  was  a  hard-hearted  monster  then.  I  ain't 
much  better  now,  but  I  love  my  child.  What  of  Louis, 
Maude  ?  Tell  me  of  my  boy,"  and  over  the  wrinkled 
face  of  the  old  man  broke  beautifully  the  father-love, 
giving  place  to  the  father-pride,  as  Maude  told  of 
Louis's  success,  of  the  fame  lie  won,  and  the  money  he 
had  earned. 


HOME  AGAIN.  211 

"  Money !  "  Dr.  Kennedy  started  quickly  at  that 
word,  but  ere  he  could  repeat  it,  his  ear  caught  a  com 
ing  sound,  and  his  eyes  flashed  eagerly  as,  grasping  the 
arm  of  Maude,  he  whispered,  "  It's  music,  Maude — it's 
music — don't  you  hear  it?  Louis's  crutches  on  the 
stairs.  He  comes,  he  comes  !  Matty's  boy  and  mine ! 
Thank  heaven,  I  have  something  left  in  which  that 
woman  has  no  part." 

In  his  excitement  he  had  risen,  and,  with  lips  apart, 
and  eyes  bent  on  the  open  door,  he  waited  for  his  crip 
pled  boy,  nor  waited  long  ere  Louis  came  in  sight, 
when,  with  a  wild,  glad  cry,  which  made  the  very 
rafters  ring,  he  caught  him  to  his  bosom.  Silently 
Maude  stole  from  the  room,  leaving  them  thus  together, 
the  father  and  his  son.  Nor  is  it  for  us  to  intrude  upon 
the  sanctity  of  that  interview,  which  lasted  more  than 
an  hour,  and  was  finally  terminated  by  the  arrival  of 
Maude  Glendower.  She  had  returned  sooner  than  was 
anticipated,  and,  after  joyfully  greeting  Maude,  started 
in  quest  of  Louis. 

"  Don't  let  her  in  here,"  whispered  the  doctor,  as  he 
heard  her  on  the  stairs.  Don't  let  her  in  here  ;  she'd 
be  seized  with  a  fit  of  repairs.  Go  to  her ;  she  loves 
you,  at  least." 

Louis  obeyed,  and  in  a  moment  was  in  the  arms  of 
his  stepmother.  She  had  changed  since  last  they  met. 
Much  of  her  soft,  voluptuous  beauty  was  gone,  and  in 
its  place  was  a  look  of  desperation,  as  if  she  did  not 
care  for  what  she  had  done,  and  meant  to  brave  it 
through.  Still,  when  alone  with  Mr.  De  Yere  and 
Maude,  she  conversed  freely  of  their  misfortunes,  and 
ere  the  day  was  over,  they  thoroughly  understood  the 
matter.  The  doctor  was  ruined ;  and  when  his  wife 
•was  questioned  of  the  future,  she  professed  to  have 


212  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

formed  no  plan,  unless,  indeed,  her  husband  lived  with 
Nellie,  who  was  how  housekeeping,  while  she  went 
whither  she  could  find  a  place.  To  this  arrangement 
Mr.  De  Yere  made  no  comment.  He  did  not  seem 
disposed  to  talk,  but  when  the  day  of  sale  came,  he 
acted ;  and  it  was  soon  understood  that  the  house  to 
gether  with  fifty  acres  of  land  would  pass  into  his 
hands.  Louis,  too,  was  busy.  Singling  out  every 
article  of  furniture  which  had  been  his  mother's,  he 
bought  it  with  his  own  money,  while  John,  determining 
that  "  t'other  one,"  as  he  called  Katy,  should  not  be 
entirely  overlooked,  bid  off  the  high-post  bedstead  and 
chest  of  drawers,  which  once  were  hers.  Many  of  the 
more  elegant  pieces  of  furniture  were  sold,  but  Mr.  De 
Vere  kept  enough  to  furnish  the  house  handsomely ; 
and  when  the  sale  was  over  and  the  family  once  more 
reassembled  in  the  pleasant  parlor,  Dr.  Kennedy  wept 
like  a  child  as  he  blessed  the  noble  young  man  who 
had  kept  for  him  his  home.  Maude  Glendower,  too, 
was  softened  ;  and  going  up  to  Mr.  De  Vere,  she  said, 
"  If  I  know  how  to  spend  lavishly,  I  know  also  how  to 
economize,  and  henceforth  none  shall  accuse  me  of  ex 
travagance." 

These  were  no  idle  words,  for,  as  well  as  she  could, 
she  kept  her  promise  ;  and  though  she  often  committed 
errors,  she  usually  tried  to  do  the  thing  which  her 
children  would  approve.  After  a  day  or  two,  Mr.  De 
Vere  and  Maude  returned  to  Hampton,  leaving  Louis 
with  his  father,  who,  in  his  society,  grew  better  and 
happier  each  day.  Hannah,  who  was  growing  old, 
went,  from  choice,  to  live  with  Maude,  but  John  would 
not  forsake  his  master.  Nobody  knew  the  kinks  of  the 
old  place  like  himself,  he  said,  and  he  accordingly  staid, 
superintending  the  whole,  and  coming  ere  long  to 


HOME  AGAIN.  213 

speak  of  it  all  as  his.  It  was  his  farm,  his  oxen,  his 
everything,  except  the  pump,  which  Hannah,  in  her 
letter  to  Maude,  had  designated  as  an  injin.  Upon 
this  he  looked  a  little  askance. 

"  'Twas  a  mighty  good  thing  in  its  place,"  he  said, 
*'  and  at  a  fire  it  couldn't  be  beat,  but  he'd  be  hanged 
if  he  didn't  b'lieve  a  nigger  was  made  for  somethin' 
harder  and  more  sweaty-like  than  turnin'  that  crank  to 
make  b'lieve  rain  when  it  didn't.  He  reckoned  the 
Lord  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  if  He  was  a  mind 
to  dry  up  the  grass  and  the  arbs,  it  wasn't  for  Gary 
nor  nary  other  chap  to  take  the  matter  into  their  own 
hands,  and  invent  a  patent  thunder-shower. 

John  reasoned  clearly  upon  some  subjects,  and 
though  his  reasoning  was  not  always  correct,  he  proved 
a  most  invaluable  servant.  Old  Hannah's  place  was 
filled  by  another  colored  woman,  Sylvia,  and  though 
John  greatly  admired  her  complexion,  as  being  one 
which  would  not  fade,  he  lamented  her  inefficiency, 
and  often  expressed  a  wish  that  the  services  of  Janet 
Hopkins  could  be  again  secured. 

But  Janet  was  otherwise  engaged ;  and  here,  near 
the  close  of  our  story,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  glance 
for  a  moment  at  one  who  in  the  commencement  of  the 
narrative  occupied  a  conspicuous  place.  About  the 
time  of  Maude's  blindness,  she  had  removed  to  a  town 
in  the  southern  part  of  New  York,  and  though  she 
wrote  apprising  her  young  mistress  of  the  change,  she 
forgot  entirely  to  say  where  she  was  going,  conse 
quently  the  family  were  ignorant  of  her  place  of  resi 
dence,  until  accident  revealed  it  to  J.  C.  De  Yere.  It 
was  but  a  few  weeks  preceding  Maude's  return  from 
Europe  that  he  found  himself  compelled  to  spend  a 
Sabbath  in  the  quiet  town  of  Fayette.  Not  far  from 


214  COUSIN  MATJDE. 

his  hotel,  an  Episcopal  church  reared  its  slender  tower, 
and  thither,  at  the  usual  hour  for  service,  he  wended 
his  way.  There  was  to  be  a  baptism  that  morning, 
and  many  a  smile  flitted  over  the  face  of  matron  and 
maid,  as  a  meek-looking  man  came  slowly  up  the  aisle, 
followed  by  a  short,  thick,  resolute  Scotchwoman,  in 
whom  we  recognize  our  old  friend  Janet  Hopkins. 
Notwithstanding  her  firm  conviction  that  MAUDE  MA 
TILDA  REMINGTON  BLODGETT  was  her  last  and  only  one, 
she  was  now  tho  mother  of  a  sturdy  boy,  which  the 
meek  man  carried  in  his  arms.  Hot  disputes  there  had 
been  between  the  twain  concerning  a  name,  Mr.  Hop 
kins  advocating  simply  John,  as  having  been  borne  by 
his  sire,  while  Janet,  a  little  proud  of  the  notoriety 
which  her  daughter's  cognomen  had  brought  to  her, 
determined  to  honor  her  boy  with  a  name  which  should 
astonish  every  one. 

At  the  time  of  Maude's  engagement  with  J.  C.  De 
Yere,  she  had  written  to  know  what  J.  C.  was  for,  and 
Jedediah  Cleishbotham  pleased  her  fancy  as  being  un 
usual  and  odd.  Indirectly  she  had  heard  that  Maude 
was  married  to  Mr.  De  Vere,  and  gone  to  Europe,  and 
supposing  it  was  of  course  J.  C.  she,  on  this  occasion, 
startled  her  better  half  by  declaring  that  her  son  should 
be  baptized  "  John  Joel  Jedediah  Cleishbotham  "  or 
nothing!  It  was  in  vain  that  he  remonstrated.  Janet 
was  firm,  and  hunting  up  Maude's  letter,  written  more 
than  three  years  before,  she  bade  him  write  down  the 
name,  so  as  not  to  make  a  blunder.  But  this  he  re 
fused  to  do,  "He  guessed  he  could  remember  that 
horrid  name ;  there  was  not  another  like  it  in  Chris 
tendom,"  he  said,  and  on  the  Sunday  morning  of  which 
we  write,  he  took  his  baby  in  his  arms,  and  in  a  state 
of  great  nervous  irritability,  started  for  church,  repeat- 


HOME  AGAIN.  215 

ing  to  himself  the  names,  particularly  the  last,  which 
troubled  him  the  most.  Many  a  change  he  rang  upon 
it,  and  by  the  time  he  stood  before  the  altar  the  per 
spiration  was  starting  from  every  pore,  so  anxious  was 
he  to  acquit  himself  creditably,  and  thus  avoid  the 
Caudle  lecture  which  was  sure  to  follow  a  mistake, 
"  But,  he  should  not  make  a  mistake,  he  knew  exactly 
what  the  name  was,  he'd  said  it  over  a  hundred  times," 
and  when  the  minister,  taking  the  baby  in  his  arms, 
said,  "  Name  this  child,"  he  spoke  up  loud  and  prompt 
ly,  jerking  out  the  last  word  with  a  vengeance,  as  if 
relieved  to  have  it  off  his  mind,  "  JOHN  JOEL  JEDEDIAH 
LEUSEBOTTOM.  ' ' 

"  That's  for  me,"  was  J.  C.'s  involuntary  exclama 
tion,  which  however,  was  lost  amid  the  general  titter 
and  half  suppressed  laugh  which  ran  through  the 
house. 

In  an  agony  of  anxiety  Janet  strove  to  rectify  the 
mistake,  while  her  elbow  sought  the  ribs  of  her  con 
jugal  lord ;  but  the  minister  paid  no  heed,  and  when 
the  screaming  infant  was  given  back  to  its  frightened 
father's  arms,  it  bore  the  name  of  "  John  Joel"  and 
nothing  more. 

To  this  catastrophe,  Janet  was  in  a  measure  recon 
ciled,  when  after  church  J.  C.  sought  her  out,  and  in 
troducing  himself,  informed  her  of  the  true  state  of 
affairs. 

"  Then  you  ain't  married  to  Maude  after  all,"  said 
the  astonished  Janet,  as  she  proceeded  to  question  him 
of  the  doctor's  family.  "  It  beats  all,  I  never  heard 
on't,  but  no  wonder,  livin'  as  we  do  in  this  out  o'  the 
way  place, — no  cars, — no  stage, — no  post  office  but 
twice  a  week — no  nothin." 

This  was  indeed  the  reason  why  Janet  had  remained 


216  COUSIN  MATJDE. 

so  long  in  ignorance  of  the  people  with  whom  she 
formerly  lived.  Fayette,  as  she  said,  was  an  out  of  the 
way  place,  and  after  hearing  from  a  man  who  met 
them  in  New  York,  that  Maude  and  Louis  were  both 
gone  to  Europe,  she  gave  Laurel  Hill  no  further 
thought,  and  settled  quietly  down  among  the  hills  un 
til  her  monotonous  life  was  broken  by  the  birth  of  a 
son,  the  John  Joel,  who,  as  she  talked  with  J.  C., 
slept  calmly  in  his  crib. 

"  So  you  ain't  merried  to  her,"  she  kept  repeating, 
her  anger  at  her  husband's  treacherous  memory  fast 
decreasing.  "  I  kinder  thought  her  losin'  my  money 
might  make  a  difference,  but  you're  jest  as  happy  with 
Nellie,  ain't  you  ? " 

The  question  was  abrupt,  and  J.  C.  colored  crimson, 
as  he  tried  to  stammer  out  an  answer. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  returned  Janet,  noticing  his  em 
barrassment.  "  Married  life  is  just  like  a  checker- board, 
and  all  on  us  has  as  much  as  we  can  do  to  swaller  it  at 
times,  but  you  would  of  been  happy  with  Maude,  I 
know." 

J.  C.  knew  so,  too,  and  long  after  he  parted  with 
Janet  her  last  words  were  ringing  in  his  ears,  while 
mingled  with  them  was  the  bitter  memory,  "  It  might 
perhaps  have  been." 

"  But  there  was  no  hope  now,  and  with  an  increased 
air  of  dejection,  he  went  back  to  his  cheerless  home. 
Thry  were  housekeeping,  Nellie  and  himself,  for  Mrs. 
Kelsey  had  married  again,  and  as  the  new  husband 
did  not  fancy  the  young  people,  they  had  set  up  an  es 
tablishment  of  their  own,  and  J.  C.  was  fast  learning 
how  utterly  valueless  are  soft,  white  hands,  when  their 
owner  knows  not  how  to  use  them.  Though  keeping 
up  an  outside  show  he  was  really  very  poor,  and  when 


HOME  AGAIN.  217 

tie  heard  of  the  doctor's  misfortune,  he  went  to  his 
chamber  and  wept  as  few  men  ever  weep.  As  Hannah 
well  expressed  it,  "  he  was  shiftless,"  and  did  not  know 
how  to  take  care  of  himself.  This  James  De  Yere  un 
derstood,  and  after  the  sale  at  Laurel  Hill,  he  turned 
his  attention  to  his  unfortunate  cousin,  and  succeeded 
at  last  in  securing  for  him  the  situation  of  book-keeper 
in  a  large  establishment  in  New  York,  with  which  he 
was  himself  remotely  connected.  Thither,  about 
Christmas,  J.  C.  and  Nellie  went,  and  from  her  small 
back-room  in  the  fifth  story  of  a  New  York  boarding- 
house,  Nellie  writes  to  Louis  glowing  descriptions  of 
high  life  in  the  city,  and  Louis,  glancing  at  his  crutches 
and  withered  feet,  smiles  as  he  thinks  how  weary  he 
should  be  climbing  the  four  flights  of  stairs  which  lead 
to  that  high  life. 

And  now,  with  one  more  glance  at  Maude,  we  bring 
our  story  to  a  close.  It  is  Easter,  and  over  the  earth 
the  April  sun  shines  brightly,  just  as  it  shone  on  the 
Judean  hills  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  The  Sabbath 
bells  are  ringing,  and  the  merry  peal  which  comes  from 
the  Methodist  tower  bespeaks  in  John  a  frame  of  mind 
unsuited  to  the  occasion.  Since  forsaking  the  Epis 
copalians,  he  had  seldom  attended  their  service,  but 
this  morning,  after  his  task  is  done,  he  will  steal 
quietly  across  the  common  to  the  old  stone  church, 
where  James  De  Yere  and  Maude  sing  together  the 
glorious  Easter  Anthem.  Maude  formerly  sang  the 
alto,  but  in  the  old  world  her  voice  was  trained  to  the 
higher  notes,  and  to-day  it  will  be  heard  in  the  choir 
where  it  has  so  long  been  missed. 

The  bells  have  ceased  to  toll,  and  a  family  group 
come  slowly  up  the  aisle.  Dr.  Kennedy  slightly  bent, 
his  white  hair  shading  a  brow  from  which  much  of  his 


218  COUSIN  MAUDE. 

former  sternness  has  gone,  and  his  hand  shaking 
but  slightly  as  he  opens  the  pew  door  and  then  steps 
back  for  the  lady  to  enter,  the  lady  Maude  Glendower, 
who  walks  not  as  proudly  as  of  old.  She,  too,  has 
been  made  better  by  adversity,  and  though  she  will 
never  love  the  palsied  man,  her  husband,  she  will  be  to 
him  a  faithful  wife,  and  a  devoted  mother  to  his  boy, 
who  in  the  square,  old  fashioned  pew,  sits  where  his 
eye  can  rest  upon  his  beautiful  sister,  as  her  snowy 
lingers  sweep  once  more  the  organ  keys,  which  tremble 
joyfully  as  it  were  to  the  familiar  touch.  Low,  deep- 
toned  and  heavy  is  the  prelude  to  the  song,  and  they 
who  listen  feel  the  floor  tremble  beneath  their  feet. 
Then  a  strain  of  richest  melody  echoes  through  the 
house,  and  the  congregation  held  their  breath,  as 
Maude  De  Vere  sings  to  them  of  the  Passover  once 
sacrificed  for  us. 

The  Anthem  is  finished.  There  is  a  heightened 
bloom  upon  Maude's  cheek,  a  softer  luster  in  her  eye, 
while  throughout  the  church  there  is  a  solemn  hush, 
which  the  man  of  God  seems  loth  to  break.  And  now, 
shall  we  not  leave  them  thus  with  the  holy  Easter  light 
streaming  up  the  narrow  aisles,  and  the  sweet  music  of 
the  Easter  song  dying  on  the  air. 

THE   E2STD. 


ROSAMOND, 

OR, 

THE    YOUTHFUL    ERROR. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER  I. 
The  Owner  of  Riverside 3 

CHAPTER  II. 
Rosamond  Leyton 8 

CHAPTER  m. 
Ben's  Visit 17 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Rosamond's  Education 26 

CHAPTER  V. 
Brother  and  Sister * 31 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Marie  Porter 39 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Making  Love 50 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
News 62 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Guest  at  Riverside 68 

1 


2  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Story 76 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  End..  89 


ROSAMOND, 

OR, 

THE    YOUTHFUL    ERROR. 
A  TALE  OF  RIVERSIDE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   OWNER   OF   RIVERSIDE. 

ALL  the  day  long  the  September  rain  had  fallen, 
and  when  the  night  closed  in  it  showed  no  sign  of 
weariness,  but  with  the  same  monotonous  patter 
dropped  upon  the  roof,  or  beat  against  the  windows 
of  the  pleasantly  lighted  room  where  a  young  man  sat 
gazing  at  the  glowing  grate,  and  listening  apparently 
to  the  noise  of  the  storm  without.  But  neither  the 
winds,  nor  yet  the  rain,  had  a  part  of  that  young  man's 
thoughts,  for  they  were  with  the  past,  and  the  chain 
which  linked  them  to  that  past  was  the  open  letter 
which  lay  on  the  table  beside  him.  For  that  letter  he 
had  waited  long  and  anxiously,  wondering  what  it 
would  contain,  and  if  his  overtures  for  reconciliation 
with  one  who  had  erred  far  more  than  himself,  would 
be  accepted.  It  had  come  at  last,  and  with  a  gathering 

coldness  at  his  heart  he  had  read  the  decision, — "  she 

3 


4  ROSAMOND. 

would  not  be  reconciled,"  and  she  bade  him  "  go 
his  way  alone  and  leave  her  to  herself." 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  never  trouble  her 
again," — and  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  as  if  a  heavy  load, 
a  dread  of  coming  evil,  had  been  taken  from  his  mind, 
he  threw  the  letter  upon  the  table,  and  leaning  back  in 
his  cushioned  chair,  tried  to  fancy  that  the  last  few 
years  of  his  life  were  blotted  out. 

"  Could  it  be  so,  Ralph  Browning  would  be  a  different 
man,"  he  said  aloud ;  then,  as  he  glanced  round  the 
richly  furnished  room,  he  continued — "  People  call  me 
happy,  and  so  perhaps  I  might  be,  but  for  this  haunting 
memory.  Why  was  it  suffered  to  be,  and  must  I 
make  a  life-long  atonement  for  that  early  sin  ?  " 

In  his  excitement  he  arose,  and  crushing  the  letter 
for  a  moment  in  his  hand,  hurled  it  into  the  fire  ; 
then,  going  to  his  private  drawer,  he  took  out  and 
opened  a  neatly  folded  package,  containing  a  long  tress 
of  jet  black  hair.  Shudderingly  he  wound  it  around 
his  fingers,  laid  it  over  the  back  of  his  hand,  held  it 
up  to  the  light,  and  then  with  a  hard,  dark  look  upon 
his  face,  threw  it,  too,  upon  the  grate,  saying  aloud, 
"  Thus  perisheth  every  memento  of  the  past,  and  I  am 
free  again — free  as  air !  " 

He  walked  to  the  window,  and  pressing  his  burning 
forehead  against  the  cool,  damp  pane,  looked  out 
upon  the  night.  He  could  not  see  through  the  dark 
ness,  but  had  it  been  day,  his  eye  would  have  rested 
on  broad  acres  all  his  own  ;  for  Ralph  Browning  was 
a  wealthy  man,  and  the  house  in  which  he  lived  was 
his  by  right  of  inheritance  from  a  bachelor  uncle  for 
whom  he  had  been  named  and  who,  two  years  before 
our  story  opens,  had  died,  leaving  to  his  nephew  the 
grand  old  place,  called  Riverside,  from  its  nearness  to 


THE  OWNER  OF  RIVERSIDE.  5 

the  river.  It  was  a  most  beautiful  spot ;  and  when  its 
new  master  first  took  possession  of  it,  the  maids  and 
matrons  of  Granby,  who  had  mourned  for  the  elder 
Browning  as  people  mourn  for  a  good  man,  felt 
themselves  somewhat  consoled  from  the  fact  that  his 
successor  was  young  and  handsome,  and  would  doubt 
less  prove  an  invaluable  acquisition  to  their  fireside 
circles,  and  furnish  a  theme  for  gossip,  without  which 
no  village  can  well  exist.  But  in  the  first  of  their 
expectations  they  were  mistaken,  for  Mr.  Browning 
shunned  rather  than  sought  society,  and  spent  the  most 
of  his  leisure  hours  in  the  seclusion  of  his  library, 
where,  as  Mrs.  Peters,  his  housekeeper,  said,  he  did 
nothing  but  mope  over  books  and  walk  the  floor. 
"  He  was  melancholy,"  she  said ;  "  there  was  some 
thing  workin'  on  his  mind,  and  what  it  was  she  didn't 
know  more'n  the  dead — though  she  knew  as  well  as 
she  wanted  to,  that  he  had  been  crossed  in  love  for 
what  else  would  make  so  many  of  his  hairs  gray,  and 
he  not  yet  twenty -five  !  " 

That  there  was  a  mystery  connected  with  him,  was 
conceded  by  most  of  the  villagers,  and  many  a  curious 
gaze  they  bent  upon  the  grave,  dignified  young  man, 
who  seldom  joined  in  their  pastime  or  intruded  him 
self  upon  their  company.  Much  sympathy  was  ex 
pressed  for  him  in  his  loneliness,  by  the  people  of 
Granby,  and  more  than  one  young  girl  would  gladly 
have  imposed  upon  herself  the  task  of  cheering  that 
loneliness ;  but  he  seemed  perfectly  invulnerable  to 
maiden  charms;  and  when  Mrs  Peters,  as  she  often 
did,  urged  him  "  to  take  a  wife  and  be  somebody,"  he 
answered  quietly,  "  I  am  con  tent  to  follow  the  example 
of  my  uncle.  I  shall  probably  never  marry." 

Still  he  was  lonely  in  his  great  house — so  lonely  that, 


6  ROSAMOND. 

though  it  hurt  his  pride  to  do  it,  he  wrote  the  letter, 
the  answer  to  which  excited  him  so  terribly,  and  awoke 
within  his  mind  a  train  of  thought  so  absorbing  and 
intense,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  summons  to  supper 
until  Mrs.  Peters  put  her  head  into  the  room,  asking 
"  if  he  were  deaf  or  what." 

Mrs  Peters  had  been  in  the  elder  Browning's  house 
hold  for  years,  and  when  the  new  owner  came,  she  still 
continued  at  her  post,  and  exercised  over  her  young 
master  a  kind  of  motherly  care,  which  he  permitted 
because  he  knew  her  real  worth,  and  that  without 
her  his  home  would  be  uncomfortable  indeed.  On  the 
occasion  of  which  wre  write,  Mrs.  Peters  was  unusually 
attentive,  and  to  a  person  at  all  skilled  in  female  tactics, 
it  was  evident  that  she  was  about  to  ask  a  favor,  and 
had  made  preparations  accordingly.  His  favorite  waf 
fles  had  been  buttered  exactly  right — the  peaches 
and  cream  were  delicious — the  fragrant  black  tea  was 
neither  too  strong  nor  too  weak — the  fire  blazed 
brightly  in  the  grate — the  light  from  the  chandelier 
fell  softly  upon  the  massive  silver  service  and  damask 
cloth; — and  with  all  these  creature  comforts  around 
him,  it  is  not  strange  that  he  forgot  the  letter  and  the 
tress  of  hair  which  so  lately  had  blackened  on  the 
coals.  The  moment  was  propitious,  and  by  the  time 
he  had  finished  his  second  cup,  Mrs.  Peters  said,  "I 
have  something  to  propose." 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  he  looked  inquiringly  at  her 
and  she  continued:  "You  remember  Mrs.  Leyton,  the 
poor  woman  who  had  seen  better  days,  and  lived  in  East 
Granby  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  know  she  has  been  sick,  and  you  gave  me  leave 
to  carry  her  anything  I  chose  ? " 


THE  OWNER  OF  RIVERSIDE.  7 

"Yes." 

"  "Well,  she's  dead,  poor  thing,  and  what  is  worse,  she 
hain't  no  connection,  nor  never  had,  and  her  little 
daughter  Rosamond  hain't  a  place  to  lay  her  head." 

"  Let  her  come  and  sleep  with  you  then,"  said  Mr. 
Browning,  rattling  his  spoon  upon  the  edge  of  his  cup. 

"Yes,  and  what'll  she  do  days?"  continued  Mrs 
Peters.  "  She  can't  run  the  streets,  that's  so ;  now,  I 
don't  believe  no  great  in  children,  and  you  certainly 
don't  b'lieve  in  'em  at  all  nor  your  poor  uncle  before 
you ;  but  Rosamond  ain't  a  child  ,  she's  thirteen — most 
a  woman — and  if  you  don't  mind  the  expense,  I  shan't 
mind  the  trouble,  and  she  can  live  here  till  she  finds  a 
place.  Her  mother,  you  know,  took  up  millinering  to 
get  a  living." 

"  Certainly,  let  her  come,"  answered  Mr.  Browning, 
who  was  noted  for  his  benevolence. 

This  matter  being  thus  satisfactorily  settled,  Mrs. 
Peters  arose  from  the  table,  while  Mr.  Browning  went 
back  to  the  olden  memories  which  had  haunted  him  so 
much  that  day,  and  with  which  there  was  not  mingled 
a  single  thought  of  the  little  Rosamond,  who  was  to 
exert  so  strong  an  influence  upon  his  future  life. 


ROSAMOND. 


CHAPTER  II. 

KOSAMOND  LEYTON. 

ROSAMOND  had  been  some  weeks  at  Riverside,  and 
during  all  that  time  Mr.  Browning  had  scarcely  no 
ticed  her  at  all.  On  the  first  day  of  her  arrival  he 
had  spoken  kindly  to  her,  asking  her  how  old  she  was, 
and  how  long  her  mother  had  been  dead,  and  this  was 
all  the  attention  he  had  paid  to  her.  He  did  not  even 
yet  know  the  color  of  her  eyes,  or  texture  of  her  hair. 
— whether  it  were  curly  or  straight,  black  or  brown  ; 
but  he  knew  in  various  ways  that  she  was  there — knew 
it  by  the  sound  of  dancing  feet  upon  the  stairs,  which 
were  wont  to  echo  only  to  Mrs.  Peters'  heavy  tread — 
knew  it  by  the  tasteful  air  his  room  suddenly  assumed 
— by  the  ringing  laugh  and  musical  songs  which  came 
often  from  the  kitchen,  and  by  the  thousand  changes 
which  the  presence  of  a  merry-hearted  girl  of  thirteen 
brings  to  a  hitherto  silent  house.  Of  him  Rosamond 
stood  considerably  in  awe,  and  though  she  could  will 
ingly  have  worshipped  him  for  giving  her  so  pleasant 
a  home,  she  felt  afraid  of  him  and  kept  out  of  his  way, 
watching  him  with  childish  curiosity  at  a  distance, 
admiring  his  noble  figure,  and  wondering  if  she  would 
ever  dare  speak  to  him  as  fearlessly  as  Mrs.  Peters 
did. 

From  this  woman  Rosamond  received  all  a  mother's 
care,  and  though  the  name  of  her  lost  parent  was  often 
on  her  lips,  she  was  beginning  to  be  very  happy  in  her 


ROSAMOND  LEYTOK  9 

new  home,  when  one  day  toward  the  middle  of  October 
Mrs.  Peters  told  her  that  Mr.  Browning's  only  sister, 
a  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten,  who  lived  South,  was  coming  to 
Riverside,  together  with  her  son  Ben.  The  lady  Mrs. 
Peters  had  never  seen,  but  Ben,  who  was  at  school  in 
Albany,  had  spent  a  vacation  there,  and  she  described 
him  as  a "  great,  good-natured  fool,"  who  cared  for 
nothing  but  dogs,  cigars,  fast  horses  and  pretty  girls. 

Rosamond  pushed  back  the  stray  curls  which  had 
fallen  over  her  face,  glanced  at  the  cracked  mirror 
which  gave  her  two  noses  instead  of  one,  and  thinking 
to  herself,  "  I  wonder  if  he'll  care  for  me,"  listened 
attentively  while  Mrs.  Peters  continued, — "  This  Miss 
Yan  Yechten  is  a  mighty  fine  lady,  they  say,  and  has 
heaps  of  niggers  to  wait  on  her  at  home, — but  she  can't 
bring  'em  here,  for  /  should  set  'em  free — that's  so. 
I  don't  b'lieve  in't.  "What  was  I  sayin'  ?  Oh,  I  know, 
she  can't  wait  on  herself,  and  wrote  to  have  her 
brother  get  some  one.  He  asked  me  if  you'd  be 
willin'  to  put  on  her  clothes,  wash  her  face,  and  chaw 
her  victuals  like  enough." 

"  Mr.  Browning  never  said  that,"  interrupted  Rosa 
mond,  and  Mrs.  Peters  replied — "  Well,  not  that  ex 
actly,  but  he  wants  you  to  wait  on  her  generally." 

"  I'll  do  any  thing  reasonable,"  answered  Rosamond. 
«  When  will  she  be  here  ? " 

"  In  two  or  three  days,"  said  Mrs.  Peters,  "  and  I 
must  hurry,  or  I  shan't  have  them  north  chambers 
ready  for  her.  Ben  ain't  coming  quite  so  soon." 

The  two  or  three  days  passed  rapidly,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  third  a  carriage  laden  with  trunks  stopped 
before  the  gate  at  Riverside,  and  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten 
had  come.  She  was  a  thin,  sallow-faced,  proud-looking 
woman,  wholly  unlike  her  brother,  whose  senior  she 


10  ROSAMOND. 

•was  by  many  years.  She  had  seen  much  of  the  world, 
and  that  she  was  conscious  of  her  own  fancied  supe 
riority  was  perceptible  in  every  movement.  She  was 
Mrs.  Richard  Yan  Yechten,  of  Alabama — one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  the  state.  Her  deceased  husband 
had  been  United  States  Senator — she  had  been  to 
Europe — had  seen  the  Queen  on  horseback — had  passed 
the  residence  of  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland,  and  when 
Rosamond  Leyton  appeared  before  her  in  her  neatly- 
fitting  dress  of  black  and  asked  what  she  could  do  for 
her,  she  elevated  her  eyebrows,  and  coolly  surve}Ting 
the  little  girl,  answered  haughtily,  "  Comb  out  my 
hair." 

"Yes,  I  will,"  thought  Rosamond,  who  had  taken 
a  dislike  to  the  grand  lady,  and  suiting  the  action  to 
the  thought,  she  did  comb  out  her  hair,  pulling  it  so 
unmercifully  that  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  angrily  bade  her 
stop. 

"  Look  at  me,  girl,"  said  she  ;  "  did  you  ever  assist 
at  any  one's  toilet  before  ? " 

"  I've  hooked  Mrs.  Peter's  dress  and  pinned  on  Brid 
get's  collar,"  answered  Rosamond,  her  great  brown 
eyes  brimming  with  mischief. 

"  Disgusting  !  "  returned  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten — "  I 
should  suppose  Ralph  would  know  better  than  to  get 
me  such  an  ignoramus.  "Were  you  hired  on  purpose 
to  wait  on  me  ? " 

"  "Why,  no,  ma'am — I  live  here,"  answered  Rosa 
mond. 

"  Live  here ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten,  "  and 
pray,  what  do  you  do  ? " 

"  Nothing  much,  unless  I  choose,"  said  Rosamond, 
who,  being  a  great  pet  with  Mrs  Peters  and  the  other 
servants,  really  led  a  very  easy  life  at  Riverside. 


ROSAMOND  LEYTOX.  11 

Looking  curiously  into  the  frank,  open  face  of  the 
young  girl,  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  concluded  she  was  never 
intended  to  take  a  negro's  place,  and  with  a  wave  of 
her  hand  she  said,  "  You  may  go ;  I  can  dress  myself 
alone." 

That  evening,  as  the  brother  and  sister  sat  together 
in  the  parlor,  the  latter  suddenly  asked,  "  Who  is  that 
Rosamond  Leyton,  and  what  is  she  doing  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Browning  told  her  all  he  knew  of  the  girl,  and 
she  continued,  "  Do  you  intend  to  educate  her?  " 

"  Educate  her !  "  said  he — "  what  made  you  think  of 
that  ? " 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  "  as 
you  expect  to  do  penance  the  rest  of  your  lifetime,  I 
did  not  know  but  you  would  deem  it  your  duty  to 
educate  every  beggar  who  came  along." 

The  idea  of  educating  Rosamond  Leyton  was  new  to 
Mr.  Browning,  but  he  did  not  tell  his  sister  so — he 
merely  said,  "  And  suppose  I  do  educate  her  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,"  answered  the  lady,  "  Ben  will  not 
pass  his  college  vacations  here,  as  I  had  intended  that 
he  should  do." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Browning. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten.  "  Just  as 
though  you  did  not  know  how  susceptible  he  is  to 
female  beauty,  and  if  you  treat  this  Rosamond  as  an 
equal,  it  will  be  like  him  to  fall  in  love  with  her  at 
once.  She  is  very  pretty,  you  know." 

Mr.  Browning  did  not  know  any  such  thing.  In 
fact,  he  scarcely  knew  how  the  young  girl  looked,  but 
his  sister's  remark  had  awakened  in  him  an  interest, 
and  after  she  had  retired,  which  she  did  early,  he  rang 
the  bell  for  Mrs.  Peters,  who  soon  appeared  in  answer 
to  his  call. 


12  ROSAMOND. 

"  Is  Rosamond  Leyton  up,"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Mrs.  Peters,  wondering  at  the 
question. 

"  Send  her  to  me,"  he  said,  and  with  redoubled 
amazement  Mrs.  Peters  carried  the  message  to  Rosa 
mond,  who  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  trying  in  vain 
to  undo  an  obstinate  knot  in  her  boot-string. 

"Mr.  Browning  sent  for  me!"  she  exclamed,  her 
cheeks  flushing  up.  "  Wants  to  scold  me,  I  suppose, 
for  pulling  his  sister's  hair.  I  only  did  what  she  told 
me  to,"  and  with  a  beating  heart  she  started  for  the 
parlor. 

Rosamond  was  afraid  of  Mr.  Browning,  and  feeling 
sure  that  he  intended  to  reprove  her,  she  took  the  chair 
nearest  to  the  door,  and  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  began  to  cry,  saying — "  It  was  ugly  in  me,  I 
know,  to  pull  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten's  hair,  and  I  did  it  on 
purpose,  too;  but  I  won't  do  so  again,  I  certainly 
wont." 

Mr.  Browning  was  confounded.  This  was  the  first 
intimation  he  had  received  of  the  barbaric  performance, 
and  for  a  moment  he  remained  silent,  gazing  at  the 
little  girl.  Her  figure  was  very  slight,  her  feet  and 
hands  were  very  small,  and  her  hair,  though  disordered 
now  and  rough,  was  of  a  beautiful  brown,  and  fell  in 
heavy  curls  around  her  neck.  He  saw  all  this  at  a 
glance,  but  her  face,  the  point  to  which  his  attention 
was  chiefly  directed,  he  could  not  see  until  those  little 
hands  were  removed,  and  as  a  means  of  accomplishing 
this  he  at  last  said,  kindly — "  I  do  not  understand  you, 
Rosamond.  My  sister  has  entered  no  complaint,  and 
I  did  not  send  for  you  to  censure  you.  I  wish  to  talk 
with  you — to  get  acquainted.  "Will  you  come  and  sit 
by  me  upon  the  sofa  ? " 


ROSAMOND  LEYTON.  13 

Rosamond's  hands  came  down  from  her  face,  bufc 
she  did  not  leave  her  seat ;  neither  did  Mr.  Browning 
now  wish  to  have  her,  for  the  light  of  the  chandelier 
fell  full  upon  her,  giving  him  a  much  better  view  of 
her  features  than  if  she  had  been  nearer  to  him.  If,  as 
Mrs.  Peters  had  said,  Ben  Yan  Yechten  was  fond  of 
pretty  girls,  he  in  a  measure  inherited  the  feeling  from 
his  uncle,  who  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  beautiful, 
and  who  now  felt  a  glow  of  satisfaction  in  knowing 
that  Rosamond  Leyton  was  pretty.  It  was  a  merry, 
sparkling,  little  face  which  he  looked  upon,  and  though 
the  nose  did  turn  up  a  trifle,  and  the  mouth  was 
rather  wide,  the  soft,  brown  eyes,  and  exquisitely  fair 
complexion  made  ample  amends  for  all.  She  was 
never  intended  for  a  menial — she  would  make  a  beau 
tiful  woman — and  with  thoughts  similar  to  these,  Mr. 
Browning,  after  completing  his  survey  of  her  person, 
said — "  Have  you  been  to  school  much  ?  " 

"Always,  until  I  came  here,"  was  her  answer;  and 
he  continued — "  And  since  then  you  have  not  looked 
in  a  book,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  brown  eyes  opened  wide  as  Rosamond  re 
plied, — "  Why,  yes  I  have.  I've  read  ever  so  much  in 
your  library  when  you  were  gone.  Mrs.  Peters  told 
me  I  might,"  she  added  hastily,  as  she  saw  his  look  of 
surprise,  and  mistook  it  for  displeasure. 

"I  am  perfectly  willing,"  he  said;  "but  what  have 
you  read  ?  Tell  me." 

Rosamond  was  interested  at  once,  and  while  her 
cheeks  glowed  and  her  eyes  sparkled  she  replied — "  Oh, 
I've  read  Shakspeare's  Historical  Plays,  every  one  of 
them — and  Childe  Harold,  and  "Watts  on  the  Mind,  and 
Kenilworth,  and  now  I'm  right  in  the  middle  of  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake.  "Wasn't  Fitz-James  the  King  ?  I 


14  ROSAMOND. 

believe  he  was.  "When  I  a  m older  I  mean  to  write  a 
book  just  like  that." 

Mr.  Browning  could  not  forbear  a  smile  at  her  en 
thusiasm,  but  without  answering  her  question,  he 
said, — "  What  do  you  intend  to  do  until  you  are  old 
enough  ? " 

Rosamond's  countenance  fell,  and  after  tapping  her 
foot  upon  the  carpet  awhile,  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Peters 
will  get  me  a  place  by-and-by,  and  I  s'pose  I'll  have  to 
be  a  milliner." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  one  ?  " 

"  Why,  no ;  nor  mother  didn't  either,  but  after 
father  died  she  had  to  do  something.  Father  was  a 
kind  of  a  lawyer,  and  left  us  poor." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  go  away  from  here,  Rosamond  ? " 

There  were  tears  on  the  long-fringed  eyelashes  as 
the  young  girl  replied,  "  No,  sir  ;  I'd  like  to  live  here 
always,  but  there's  nothing  for  me  to  do." 

"Unless  you  go  to  school.  How  would  you  like 
that?" 

"  I  have  no  one  to  pay  the  bills,"  and  the  curly  head 
shook  mournfully. 

"  I  have  money,  Rosamond,  and  suppose  I  say  that 
you  shall  stay  here  and  go  to  school  ? " 

"  Oh,  sir,  will  you  say  so  ?  May  I  live  with  you 
always  ?  "  and  forgetting  her  fear  of  him  in  her  great 
joy,  Rosamond  Leyton  crossed  over  to  where  he  sat, 
and  laying  both  her  hands  upon  his  shoulder  continued 
— "  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mr.  Browning  ?  May  I  stay  ? 
Oh,  I'll  be  so  good  to  you  when  you  are  old  and 
sick!" 

It  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,  then,  and  it  almost  seemed  so  to  him.  Giving 
her  a  very  paternal  look,  he  answered,  "  Yes,  child,  you 


ROSAMOND  LEYTOK  15 

shall  stay  as  long  as  you  like  ;  and  now  go,  or  Mrs. 
Peters  will  be  wondering  what  keeps  you." 

Rosamond  started  to  leave  the  room,  but  ere  she 
reached  the  door  she  paused,  and  turning  to  Mr. 
Browning,  said,  "  You  have  made  me  so  happy,  and  I 
like  you  so  much,  1  wish  you'd  let  me  kiss  your  hand — 
may  I  ? " 

It  was  a  strange  question,  and  it  sent  the  blood  tin 
gling  to  the  very  tips  of  Mr.  Browning's  fingers. 

"  Why,  ye-es, — I  don't  know.  What  made  you 
think  of  that  \  "  he  said,  and  Rosamond  replied, — "  I 
always  kissed  father  when  he  made  me  very  happy. 
It  was  all  I  could  do." 

"  But  I  am  not  your  father,"  stammered  Mr.  Brown 
ing  ;  "  I  shall  not  be  twenty-five  until  November.  Still 
you  can  do  as  you  please." 

"  Not  twenty-five  yet,"  repeated  Rosamond  ; — "  why, 
I  thought  you  were  near  forty.  I  don't  believe  I'd 
better,  though  I  like  you  just  as  well.  Good  night." 

He  heard  her  go  through  the  hall,  up  the  stairs, 
through  the  upper  hall,  and  then  all  was  still  again. 

"  What  a  strange  little  creature  she  is,"  he  thought ; 
"so  childlike  and  frank,  but  how  queer  that  she  should 
a.$ktokissme  !  Wouldn't  Susan  be  shocked  ifsheknew 
it,  and  won't  she  be  horrified  when  I  tell  her  I  a/in  go 
ing  to  educate  the  girl.  I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  it 
but  for  her.  And  suppose  Ben  does  fall  in  love  with  her. 
If  he  knew  a  little  more,  it  would  not  be  a  bad  match. 
Somebody  must  keep  up  our  family,  or  it  will  become 
extinct.  Susan  and  I  are  the  only  ones  left,  and  /" 

here  he  paused,  and  starting  to  his  feet,  he  paced 

the  floor  hurriedly,  nervously,  as  if  seeking  to  escape 
from  some  pursuing  evil.  "  It  is  terrible,"  he  whispered, 
"  but  I  can  bear  it  and  will,"  and  going  to  his  room  he 


16  ROSAMOND. 

sought  his  pillow  to  dream  strange  dreams  of  tresses 
black  and  ringlets  brown, — of  fierce,  dark  eyes,  and 
shining  orbs,  whose  owner  had  asked  to  kiss  his  hand, 
and  mistaken  him  for  her  sire. 


BEN'S  VISIT.  17 


CHAPTER  III. 

BEN'S  VISIT. 

THE  next  morning,  as  Mrs.  Van  Vechten  was  slowly 
making  her  toilet  alone,  there  came  a  gentle  rap  at 
her  door,  and  Rosamond  Leyton  appeared,  her  face 
fresh  and  blooming  as  a  rosebud,  her  curls  brushed 
back  from  her  forehead,  and  her  voice  very  respectful, 
as  she  said — "  I  have  come  to  ask  your  pardon  for  my 
roughness  yesterday.  I  can  do  better,  and  if  you  will 
let  me  wait  on  you  while  you  stay,  I  am  sure  I  shall 
please  you." 

Mrs.  Van  Vechten  could  not  resist  that  appeal,  and 
she  graciously  accepted  the  girl's  offer,  asking  her  the 
while  what  had  made  the  change  in  her  behavior. 
Always  frank  and  truthful,  Rosamond  explained  to  the 
lady  that  Mr.  Browning's  kindness  had  filled  her  with, 
gratitude  and  determined  her  to  do  as  she  had  done. 
To  her  Mrs.  Van  Vechten  said  nothing,  but  when  she 
met  her  brother  at  the  breakfast  table,  there  was  an. 
ominous  frown  upon  her  face,  and  the  moment  they 
were  alone  she  gave  him  her  opinion  without  reserve. 
But  Mr.  Browning  was  firm.  "  He  should  have  some 
thing  to  live  for,"  he  said,  "  and  Heaven  only  knew  the 
lonely  hours  he  passed  with  no  object  in  which  to  be 
interested.  Her  family,  though  unfortunate,  are  highly 
respectable,"  he  added,  "  and  if  I  can  make  her  a  useful 
ornament  in  society,  it  is  my  duty  to  do  so." 

Mrs.  Van  Vechten  knew  how  useless  it  would  be  to 


la  ROSAMOND. 

remonstrate  with  him,  and  she  gave  up  the  contest, 
mentally  resolving  that  "  Ben  should  not  pass  his 
College  vacations  there." 

When  the  villagers  learned  that  Mr.  Brownin^  in- 

O  O 

tended  to  educate  Rosamond  and  treat  her  as  his  equal, 
they  ascribed  it  wholly  to  the  influence  of  his  sister, 
who,  of  course,  had  suggested  to  him  an  act  which 
seemed  every  way  right  and  proper.  They  did  not 
know  how  the  lady  opposed  it,  nor  how,  for  many 
days,  she  maintained  a  cold  reserve  toward  the  young 
girl,  who  strove  in  various  ways  to  conciliate  her,  and 
at  last  succeeded  so  far  that  she  not  only  accepted  her 
services  at  her  toilet,  but  even  asked  of  her  sometimes 
to  read  her  to  sleep  in  the  afternoon,  a  process  neither 
long  nor  tedious,  for  Mrs.  Yan  Vechten  was  not  literary, 
and  by  the  time  the  second  page  was  reached  she 
usually  nodded  her  full  acquiescence  to  the  author's 
opinions,  and  Rosamond  was  free  to  do  as  she  pleased. 
One  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  was  fast 
asleep,  and  Rosamond  deep  in  the  "Rhyme  of  the 
Ancient  Mariner,"  (the  former  having  selected  that 
poem  as  an  opiate  because  of  its  musical  jingle,)  there 
was  the  sound  of  a  bounding  step  upon  the  stairs, 
accompanied  by  the  stirring  notes  of  Yankee  Doodle, 
which  some  one  whistled  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Rosa 
mond  was  about  going  to  see  who  it  was,  when  the 
door  opened  and  disclosed  to  view  a  long  lank,  light- 
haired,  good-natured  looking  youth,  dressed  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion,  with  a  huge  gold  chain  dangling 
across  his  vest,  and  an  immense  diamond  ring  upon  his 
little  finger.  This  last  he  managed  to  show  frequently 
by  caressing  his  chin,  where,  by  the  aid  of  a  micro 
scope,  a  very  little  down  might  possibly  have  been 
found  !  This  was  Ben !  He  had  just  arrived,  and 


BEN'S  VISIT.  19 

learning  that  his  mother  was  in  her  room,  had  entered 
it  unceremoniously.  The  unexpected  apparition  of  a 
beautiful  young  girl  startled  him,  and  he  introduced 
himself  to  her  good  graces  by  the  very  expressive 
exclamation,  "Thunder!  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss," 
he  continued,  as  he  met  her  surprised  and  reproving 
glance.  "You  scared  me  so  I  didn't  know  what  else 
to  say.  It's  a  favorite  expression  of  mine,  but  I'll  quit 
it,  if  you  say  so.  Do  you  live  here  ?  " 

"  I  wait  upon  your  mother,"  was  the  quiet  answer, 
which  came  near  wringing  from  the  young  man  a  rep 
etition  of  the  offensive  word. 

But  he  remembered  himself  in  time,  and  then  con 
tinued,  "  How  do  you  know  she's  my  mother  ?  You  are 
right,  though.  I'm  Ben  Yan  Vechten — the  veriest 
dolt  in  school,  they  say.  But,  as  an  offset,  I've  got  a 
heart  as  big  as  an  ox  ;  and  now,  who  are  you  ?  I  know 
you  are  not  a  waiting-maid  !  " 

Rosamond  explained  who  she  was,  and  then,  rather 
pleased  with  his  off-hand  manner,  began  to  question 
him  concerning  his  journey,  and  so  forth.  Ben  was 
delighted.  It  was  not  every  girl  who  would  of  her 
own  accord  talk  to  him,  and  sitting  down  beside  her, 
he  told  her  twice  that  she  was  handsome,  was  cautiously 
winding  his  arm  around  her  waist,  when  from  the 
rosewood  bedstead  there  came  the  sharp,  quick  word, 
"  Benjamin  !  "  and,  unmindful  of  Rosamond's  presence, 
Ben  leaped  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  ejaculating, 
"  Thunder !  mother  what  do  you  want  ? " 

"  I  want  her  to  leave  the  room,"  said  Mrs.  Yan 
Yechten,  pointing  toward  Rosamond,  who,  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  her  offence,  retreated  hastily, 
•wondering  how  she  had  displeased  the  capricious  lady. 

Although  Ben  Yan  Yechten  would  not  have  dared 


20  ROSAMOKD. 

to  do  a  thing  in  direct  opposition  to  his  mother's  com 
mands,  he  was  not  ordinarily  afraid  of  her,  and  he  now 
listened  impatiently,  while  she  told  him  that  Rosamond 
Leyton  was  not  a  fit  associate  for  a  young  man  like 
himself,  "  She  was  a  sort  of  nobody,  whom  her  brother 
had  undertaken  to  educate,"  she  said,  "  and  though  she 
might  be  rather  pretty,  she  was  low-born  and  vulgar, 
as  any  one  could  see." 

Ben  confessed  to  a  deficiency  of  eyesight  on  that 
point,  and  then,  as  his  mother  showed  no  signs  of 
changing  the  conversation,  he  left  her  abruptly,  and 
sauntered  off  into  the  garden,  where  he  came  suddenly 
upon  Rosamond,  who  was  finishing  the  Ancient  Mari 
ner  in  the  summer-house,  her  favorite  resort. 

"  So  we've  met  again,"  said  he,  "  and  a  pretty  lecture 
I've  had  on  your  account." 

"  Why  on  my  account,"  asked  Rosamond  ;  and  Ben, 
who  never  kept  a  thing  to  himself,  told  her  in  substance 
all  his  mother  had  said. 

"  She  always  wakes  in  the  wrong  time,"  said  he, 
"  and  she  saw  me  just  as  I  was  about  to  give  you  a 
little  bit  of  a  hug — so  " — and  he  proceeded  to  demon 
strate. 

Rosamond's  temper  was  up,  and  equally  indignant  at 
mother  and  son,  she  started  to  her  feet,  exclaiming, 
"  I'd  thank  you,  sir,  to  let  me  alone." 

"  "Whew-ew,"  whistled  Ben.  "  Spunky,  ain't  you. 
]N"ow  I  rather  like  that.  But  pray  don't  burst  a  blood 
vessel.  I've  no  notion  of  making  love  to  you,  if  mother 
does  think  so.  You  are  too  small  a  girl." 

"  Too  small  a  girl,"  repeated  Rosamond,  scornfully. 
"  I'm  fourteen  to-morrow — quite  too  old  to  be  in 
sulted,"  and  she  darted  away,  followed  by  the  merry 
laugh  of  the  good-humored  Ben. 


BEN'S  VISIT.  21 

Two  hours  before  Eosamond  would  not  have  been 
so  excited,  for  though  nearly  fourteen  she  was  in 
thought  and  feeling  a  very  child,  as  was  proved  by  her 
asking  to  kiss  her  benefactor's  hand;  but  Mrs.  Van 
Vechten's  remarks,  repeated  to  her  by  Ben,  had 
wrought  in  her  a  change,  and,  in  some  respects,  trans 
formed  her  into  a  woman  at  once.  She  did  not  care 
so  much  for  the  liberties  Ben  had  attempted  to  take, 
but  his  mother's  words  rankled  in  her  bosom,  awaken 
ing  within  her  a  feeling  of  bitter  resentment ;  and 
when,  next  day,  the  lady's  bell  rang  out  its  summons 
for  her  to  come,  she  sat  still  upon  the  door-steps  and 
gave  no  heed. 

"  Eosamond,"  said  Mrs.  Peters,  "  Mrs.  Van  Vechten 
is  ringing  for  you." 

"  Let  her  ring,  I'm  not  going  to  wait  on  her  any 
more,"  and  Eosamond  returned  to  the  book  she  was 
reading. 

Meantime,  flurried  and  impatient,  the  lady  above 
stairs  pulled  at  the  bell-rope,  growing  more  nervous 
and  angry  with  every  pull,  until  at  last,  as  she  heard 
her  brother's  step  in  the  hall,  she  went  out  to  him  and 
said,  "  I  wish  you'd  send  that  girl  to  me.  I've  rung  at 
least  fifty  times  ;  and  dare  say  she's  enticing  Ben 
again.  I  knew  it  would  be  so." 

Going  hurriedly  clown  the  stairs,  Mr.  Browning 
sought  out  Eosamond  and  said  to  her,  "  My  sister  is 
ringing  for  you." 

"  I  know  it,  sir  ; "  and  the  brown  eyes,  which  here 
tofore  had  seemed  so  soft  and  gentle,  flashed  upon  him 
an  expression  which  puzzled  him. 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  go  ? "  he  asked ;  and  the 
young  girl  replied,  "  I  shall  not  wait  upon  her  any 
more." 


22  ROSAMO:NT>. 

"Rosamond  !  "  said  Mr.  Browning.  There  was  sever 
ity  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  Rosamond  roused  at  once. 

"  She  says  I  am  vulgar,  and  low-lorn,  and  have 
designs  upon  Ben,"  said  she,  "and  it's  a  falsehood. 
My  mother  was  as  much  a  lady  as  she.  I  am  not  vul 
gar,  and  I  hate  Ben,  and  I  won't  stay  here  if  I  must 
wait  on  her.  Shall  I  go  away  ?  " 

If  Rosamond  Jeft  the  life  of  the  house  went  with 
her.  This  Mr.  Browning  knew  ;  but  man-like,  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  conquered  by  a  woman,  and  after 
questioning  her  as  to  the  nature  of  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten's 
offence,  he  answered,  "  My  sister  says  some  foolish 
things.  I  know,  but  it  is  my  request  that  you  attend  to 
her  while  she  stays,  and  I  expect  to  be  obeyed." 

That  last  word  was  unfortunate,  for  Rosamond  had 
a  strong  will  of  her  own,  and  tapping  her  little  foot 
upon  the  ground,  she  said  saucily,  "  And  suppose  you 
are  not  obeyed  ?  " 

He  did  not  tell  her  she  must  leave  Riverside,  but  he 
said,  "  You  must  answer  for  }Tour  disobedience  to  me, 
who  have  certainly  some  right  to  control  you  ; "  then, 
fearing  that  his  own  high  temper  might  be  tried  more 
than  he  chose  to  have  it,  he  walked  away  just  in  time 
to  avoid  hearing  her  say,  "  she  cared  less  for  him  than 
for  his  sister !  " 

Rosamond  was  too  impulsive  not  to  repent  bitterly 
of  her  conduct ;  and  though  she  persisted  in  leaving 
Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  to  herself,  and  refused  to  speak 
to  Ben,  whose  face,  in  consequence,  wore  a  most 
melancholy  expression,  she  almost  cried  herself  sick, 
and  at  last  startled  Mrs.  Peters,  just  as  that  lady  was 
stepping  into  bed,  by  declaring  that  she  must  see  Mr. 
Browning  before  she  slept. 


BEX'S  VISIT.  23 

Mr.  Browning  sat  in  his  library,  alone.  He  did  not 
usually  retire  early,  but  this  night  he  had  cause  for 
wakefulness.  The  burst  of  passion  he  had  witnessed 
in  his  protegee  had  carried  him  back  to  a  time  when 
another  than  little  Rosamond  Leyton  had  laughed  his 
wishes  to  scorn. 

"  And  is  it  ever  thus  with  them  ? "  he  said.  "  Are 
all  women  furies  in  disguise  ? — and  Rosamond  seemed 
so  gentle,  so  good." 

He  did  not  hear  the  low  knock  on  his  door,  for  his 
thoughts  were  far  away  in  the  south-land,  where  he 
had  learned  his  first  lesson  of  womankind.  Neither 
did  he  hear  the  light  footfall  upon  the  floor,  but 
when  a  sweet,  tearful  voice  said  to  him,  "  Mr.  Brown 
ing,  are  you  feeling  so  badly  for  me  ?  "  he  started,  and 
on  a  hassock  at  his  feet  saw  Rosamond  Leyton.  The 
sight  of  her  was  unexpected,  and  it  startled  him  for 
a  moment,  but  soon  recovering  his  composure,  he  said 
gently :  "  "Why  are  you  here  ?  I  supposed  you  were  in 
bed." 

Rosamond  began  to  cry,  and  with  her  usual  im 
petuosity  replied,  "  I  came  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am 
for  behaving  so  rudely  to  you.  I  do  try  to  govern  my 
temper  so  hard,  but  it  sometimes  gets  the  mastery. 
"Won't  you  forgive  me,  sir  ?  It  wasn't  Rosamond  that 
acted  so — it  was  a  vile,  wicked  somebody  else.  Will 
you  forgive  me  ? "  and  in  her  dread  that  the  coveted 
forgiveness  might  be  withheld,  she  forgot  that  he  was 
only  twenty-four,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his  knee, 
sobbing  like  a  little  child. 

"  Had  she  done  like  this,  how  different  would  my 
life  have  been,"  thought  Mr.  Browning,  and  involun 
tarily  caressing  the  curly  head,  he  was  about  to  speak, 
when  Rosamond  interrupted  him,  saying, 


24  ROSAMOND. 

"  I  won't  deceive  you,  Mr.  Browning,  and  make  you 
think  I'm  better  than  I  am.  I  am  sorry  I  acted  so  to 
you,  but  I  don't  believe  I'm  sorry  about  Mrs.  Yan 
Yechten.  I  don't  like  her,  for  she  always  treats  me 
as  though  I  were  not  near  as  good  as  she,  and  I  can't 
wait  on  her  any  more.  Must  I  ?  Oh,  don't  make  me," 
and  she  looked  beseechingly  into  his  face. 

He  could  not  help  respecting  her  for  that  inborn 
feeling,  which  would  not  permit  herself  to  be  trampled 
down,  and  though  he  felt  intuitively  that  she  was 
having  her  own  way  after  all,  he  assured  her  of  his  for- 
giveness,  and  then  added  :  "  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  will 
not  require  your  services,  for  she  received  a  letter  to 
night,  saying  her  presence  was  needed  at  home,  and 
she  leaves  us  to-morrow. 

"  And  Ben  ?  "  she  asked—"  does  he  go,  too  ?  " 

"  He  accompanies  his  mother  to  New  York,"  Mr. 
Erowning  said,  "  and  I  believe  she  intends  leaving  him 
there  with  a  friend,  until  his  school  commences 
again." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Rosamond  rather  liked  Ben,  and 
feeling  that  she  was  the  cause  of  his  banishment  from 
Riverside,  her  sympathy  was  enlisted  for  him,  and  she 
said,  "  If  I  were  not  here,  Ben  would  stay.  Hadn't 
you  rather  send  me  away  ?  " 

"  No,  Rosamond,  no  ;  I  need  you  here,"  was  Mr. 
Browning's  reply,  and  then  as  the  clock  struck  eleven, 
he  bade  her  leave  him,  saying  it  was  time  children  like 
her  were  in  bed. 

As  he  had  said,  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  was  going  away, 
and  she  came  down  to  breakfast  next  morning  in  her 
traveling  dress,  appearing  very  unamiable,  and  looking 
very  cross  at  Rosamond,  with  whom  she  finally  parted 
without  a  word  of  reconciliation.  Ben  on  the  contrary 


BEN'S  VISIT.  "25 

was  all  affability,  and  managed  slyly  to  kiss  her,  telling 
her  he  should  come  there  again  in  spite  of  his  mother. 

After  their  departure  the  household  settled  back  into 
its  usual  monotonous  way  of  living,  with  the  exception 
that  Kosamond,  being  promoted  to  the  position  of  an. 
equal,  became,  in  many  respects,  the  real  mistress  of 
Riverside,  though  Mrs.  Peters  nominally  held  the  reins, 
and  aside  from  superintending  her  work,  built  many 
castles  of  the  future  when  her  protegee  would  be  a  full 
grown  woman  and  her  master  still  young  and  hand 
some  ! 


26  ROSAMOND. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

KOSAMOND'S  EDUCATION. 


ONE  year  has  passed  away  since  Mrs.  Van  Vechten 
departed  for  the  South,  and  up  the  locust  lined  avenue 
which  leads  to  Riverside,  the  owner  of  the  place  is 
slowly  riding.  It  is  not  pleasant  going  home  to-night, 
and  so  he  lingers  by  the  way,  wondering  why  it  is 
that  the  absence  of  a  child  should  make  so  much 
difference  in  one's  feelings !  During  the  year  Rosa 
mond  had  recited  her  lessons  to  him,  but  with  many 
others  he  fancied  no  girl's  education  could  be  finished 
unless  she  were  sent  away — and  two  weeks  before  the 
night  of  which  we  write  he  had  taken  her  himself  to 
Atwater  Seminary,  a  distance  of  more  than  two  hun 
dred  miles,  and  then,  with  a  sense  of  desolation  for 
which  he  could  not  account,  he  had  returned  to  his 
home,  which  was  never  so  lonely  before.  There  was 
no  merry  voice  within  the  walls, — no  tripping  feet  upon 
the  stairs, — no  soft,  white  hand  to  bathe  his  forehead 
when  suffering  from  real  or  fancied  headaches, — no 
slippers  waiting  by  his  chair, — no  flowers  on  the 
mantle, — no  bright  face  at  the  window, — no  Rosamond 
at  the  door. 

Of  all  this  was  he  thinking  that  November  afternoon 
and  when  at  last  he  reached  his  house,  he  went  straight 
to  his  library,  hoping  to  find  a  letter  there,  telling  him 
of  her  welfare.  But  letter  there  was  none,  and  with 
a  feeling  of  disappointment  he  started  to  the  parlor. 


ROSAMOND'S  EDUCATION.  27 

The  door  was  ajar  and  he  caught  glimpses  of  a  cheer 
fully  blazing  fire  within  the  grate.  The  shutters,  too, 
were  open  and  the  curtains  were  put  back  just  as  they 
used  to  be  when  she  was  there.  It  seemed  like  the 
olden  time,  and  with  spirits  somewhat  enlivened  he 
advanced  into  the  room.  His  favorite  chair  stood  be 
fore  the  fire,  and  so  near  to  it  that  her  head  was  lean 
ing  on  its  arm,  sat  a  young  girl.  Her  back  was  turned 
toward  him,  but  he  knew  that  form  full  well,  and  joy 
fully  he  cried,  "  Rosamond,  how  came  you  here  ?  " 

Amid  her  smiles  and  tears,  Rosamond  attempted  to 
tell  him  the  story  of  her  grievances.  She  was  home 
sick,  and  she  could  not  learn  half  so  much  at  the  At- 
water  Seminary  as  at  home — then,  too,  she  hated  the 
strait-jacket  rules,  and  hated  the  lady-boarder,  who 
pretended  to  be  sick,  and  wouldn't  let  the  school-girls 
breathe,  especially  Rosamond  Leyton,  for  whom  she 
seemed  to  have  conceived  a  particular  aversion. 

Pleased  as  Mr.  Browning  was  to  have  Rosamond  with 
him  again,  he  did  not  quite  like  her  reasons  for  coming 
back,  and  he  questioned  her  closely  as  to  the  cause  of 
her  sudden  return. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  come,  perhaps,"  said  Rosamond, 
"  if  that  sick  woman  hadn't  been  so  nervous  and  dis 
agreeable.  She  paid  enormous  sums  for  her  board, 
and  so  Mrs.  Lindsey  would  hardly  let  us  breathe  for 
fear  of  disturbing  her.  My  room  was  over  hers,  and  I 
had  to  take  off  my  shoes  and  walk  on  tip-toe,  and  even 
then  she  complained  of  me,  saying  I  was  rude  and 
noisy,  when  I  tried  so  hard  to  be  still.  I  made  some 
hateful  remark  about  her  in  the  hall,  which  she  over 
heard,  and  when  Mrs.  Lindsey  scolded  me  for  it,  say 
ing  she  was  a  very  wealthy  lady  from  Florida,  and 
accustomed  to  every  attention  at  home,  I  said  back 


28  ROSAMOND. 

some  pert  things,  I  suppose,  for  she  threatened  to  write 
and  tell  you,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  come  and  tell  you 
myself." 

There  was  a  dizzy  whirl  in  Mr.  Browning's  brain — a 
pallor  about  his  lips — for  a  terrible  suspicion  had  flashed 
upon  him,  and  leaning  forward,  he  said  in  a  voice  al 
most  a  whisper,  "  What  was  the  Florida  lady's  name  ? " 

"  Potter,  or  Porter — yes,  Miss  Porter,  that  was  it. 
But  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  sick  ?  "  Rosamond 
asked,  as  she  saw  how  white  he  was. 

"  Only  a  sudden  faintness.  It  will  soon  pass  off,"  he 
said.  "Tell  me  more  of  her.  Did  she  see  you? 
Were  you  near  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Rosamond.  "  She  was  sick  all  the 
time  I  was  there,  and  did  not  leave  her  room.  The 
girls  said,  though,  that  she  was  rather  pretty,  but  had 
big,  black,  evil-looking  eyes.  I  don't  know  why  it  was, 
but  I  felt  afraid  of  her — felt  just  as  though  she  was 
my  evil  genius.  I  couldn't  help  it — but  you  are  sick, 
Mr.  Browning — you  are  pale  as  a  ghost.  Lie  down 
upon  the  sofa,  and  let  me  bring  the  pillows,  as  I  used 
to  do." 

She  darted  off  in  the  direction  of  his  sleeping-room, 
unconscious  of  the  voice  which  called  after  her,  asking 
if  it  were  not  dark  in  the  hall,  and  bidding  her  take  a 
light. 

"  But  what  does  it  matter  ? "  he  said,  as  he  tottered 
to  the  sofa.  She  is  not  here.  Atwater  Seminary  is 
two  hundred  miles  away.  She  can't  harm  Rosamond 
now." 

By  this  time  Rosamond  came  with  the  pillows,  which 
she  arranged  upon  the  sofa,  making  him  lie  down 
while  she  sat  by,  and  laid  her  hand  soothingly  upon  his 
burning  forehead. 


ROSAMOND'S  EDUCATION".  29 

"  We  will  have  tea  in  here  to-night,"  she  said,  "  I 
told  Mrs.  Peters  so,  and  I  will  make  it  myself.  Do 
you  feel  any  better  ?  "  and  she  brought  her  rosy  face  so 
near  to  his  that  he  felt  her  warm  breath  upon  his  cheek. 

"  Yes,  I  am  better,"  he  replied,  "  but  keep  your 
hand  upon  my  forehead.  It  assures  me  of  your  presence, 
when  my  eyes  are  shut." 

So  Rosamond  sat  beside  him,  and  when  Mrs.  Peters 
came  in  to  lay  the  cloth,  she  found  them  thus  together. 
Smiling  knowingly,  she  whispered  to  herself,  "  Nater 
is  the  same  everywhere,"  and  the  good  lady  bustled 
in  and  out,  bringing  her  choicest  bits  and  richest  cake 
in  honor  of  her  pet's  return.  That  night,  freed 
from  boarding-school  restraint,  Rosamond  slept  soundly 
in  her  own  pleasant  chamber,  but  to  Ralph  Browning, 
pacing  up  and  down  his  room,  there  came  not  a 
moment  of  unconsciousness.  He  could  not  forget  how 
near  he  had  been  to  one  who  had  embittered  his 
whole  life — nor  yet  how  near  to  her  young  Rosamond 
had  been,  and  he  shuddered  as  if  the  latter  had 
escaped  an  unseen  danger.  Occasionally,  too,  the 
dread  thought  stole  over  him,  "  suppose  she  should 
come  here,  and  with  her  eagle  eyes  discover  what,  if 
it  exist  at  all,  is  hidden  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  my 
heart." 

But  of  this  he  had  little  fear,  and  when  the  morning 
came  he  was  himself  again,  and,  save  that  it  was 
haggard  and  pale,  his  face  gave  no  token  of  the  terrible 
night  he  had  passed.  But  what  should  he  do  with 
Rosamond?  This  was  the  question  which  now  per 
plexed  him.  He  had  no  desire  to  send  her  from  him 
again,  neither  would  she  have  gone  if  he  had — and 
he  at  last  came  to  the  very  sensible  conclusion  that 
the  school  in  his  own  village  was  quite  as  good  as  any, 


80  ROSAMOND. 

and  she  accordingly  became  an  attendant  at  the 
Granby  Female  Seminary.  Here  she  remained  for 
two  years  and  a  half,  over  which  time  we  will 
pass  silently  and  introduce  her  again  to  our  readers, 
when  she  is  nearly  eighteen — a  graduate — a  belle — 
and  the  sunshine  of  Riverside. 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  31 


CHAPTER  Y. 

BROTHER    AND    SISTER. 

DURING  the  time  which  had  elapsed  since  Ben  Van 
Yechten  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Rosamond,  he 
had  not  once  been  to  Riverside,  for  failing  to  enter 
college,  and  overwhelmed  with  mortification  at  his 
failure,  he  had  returned  to  Alabama,  from  which  place 
he  wrote  to  her  occasionally,  always  addressing  her  as 
a  little  girl,  and  speaking  of  himself  as  a  very  ancient 
personage  in  comparison  with  herself.  But  that  Rosa 
mond  was  now  no  longer  a  little  girl,  was  proved  by 
her  finely  rounded  figure,  her  intelligent  face,  her 
polished  manners  and  self-reliant  air.  And  Rosamond 
was  beautiful,  too — so  beautiful  that  strangers  in 
variably  asked  who  she  was,  turning  always  for  a 
second  look,  when  told  she  was  the  adopted  sister  or 
daughter — the  villagers  hardly  knew  which — of  the 
wealthy  Mr.  Browning.  But  whether  she  were  the 
daughter  or  the  sister  of  the  man  with  whom  she 
lived,  she  was  in  reality  the  mistress  of  his  household, 
and  those  who  at  first  slighted  her  as  the  child  of  a 
milliner,  now  gladly  paid  her  homage  as  one  who  was 
to  be  the  heir  of  Mr.  Browning's  wealth.  He  would 
never  marry  her,  the  wise  ones  thought — would  never 
marry  anybody — and  so,  with  this  understanding,  he 
•was  free  to  talk,  walk,  and  ride  with  her  as  often  as 
he  chose.  He  liked  her,  the  people  said,  but  did  not 
love  her,  while  Rosamond  herself  believed  he  almost 


32  ROSAMOND. 

hated  her,  so  strangely  cold  and  harsh  was  his  manner 
toward  her  at  times. 

This  coldness  had  increased  of  late,  and  when  the 
Lawries,  who,  next  to  Mr.  Browning,  were  the  most 
aristocratic  people  in  the  place,  suggested  that  she 
should  accompany  them  for  a  few  weeks  to  the  Springs, 
she  was  delighted  with  the  plan,  and  nothing  doubting 
that  Mr.  Browning  would  be  glad  to  have  her  out  of 
the  way,  she  went  to  him  for  his  consent.  She  found 
him  in  his  library,  apparently  so  absorbed  in  reading 
that  he  did  not  observe  her  approach  until  she  stood 
between  him  and  the  light.  Then  he  looked  up 
quickly,  and,  as  she  fancied,  an  expression  of  dis 
pleasure  passed  over  his  face. 

"  Excuse  me  for  disturbing  you,"  she  said,  rather 
petulantly  ;  "  I  have  to  break  in  upon  your  privacy 
if  I  would  see  you  at  all." 

He  gave  her  a  searching  glance,  and  then  laying 
aside  his  book  and  folding  his  arms,  said  pleasantly, 
"  I  am  at  your  service  now,  Miss  Leyton.  What  is  it 
you  wish  ? " 

Yery  briefly  she  stated  her  request,  and  then  sitting 
down  in  the  window,  awaited  his  answer.  It  was 
not  given  immediately,  and  when  he  did  speak,  he 
said — "  Rosamond,  do  you  wish  to  go  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  she  replied,  "  I  want  to  go  where 
it  is  not  as  lonesome  as  I  find  it  here." 

"  Lonesome,  Rosamond,  lonesome,"  he  repeated, 

"  Riverside  has  never  been  lonesome  since "  he 

paused  a  moment  and  then  added,  "  since  you  came 
here." 

The  shadow  disappeared  from  Rosamond's  face,  as 
she  replied — "  I  did  not  suppose  you  cared  to  have  me 
here.  I  thought  you  did  not  like  me." 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  33 

"  Not  like  you,  Rosamond  ? "  and  over  his  fine 
features  there  came  a  look  of  pain,  which  increased  as 
Rosamond  continued : — "  You  are  so  cold  at  times, 
and  shun  me  as  it  were ;  inventing  excuses  to  drive 
me  from  you  when  you  know  I  would  rather  stay." 

"  Oh,  Rosamond,"  he  groaned,  "  how  mistaken  you 
are.  The  world  would  be  to  me  a  blank  were  it 
not  for  you  ;  and  if  my  manner  is  sometimes  cold  and 
cruel,  it  is  because  stern  duty  demands  it  should  be  so. 
I  cannot  lay  bare  my  secret  heart  to  you  of  all  others, 
but  could  you  know  me  as  I  am,  you  would  censure 
much,  but  pity  more."  He  paused  a  moment,  then, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  said  he  continued — "  Rosa 
mond,  we  will  understand  each  other.  /  shall  never 
marry — never  can  marry.  In  your  intercourse  with 
me,  will  you  always  remember  that?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  answered  Rosamond,  puzzled  to  com 
prehend  him.  "  I'll  remember  that  you  say  so,  but  it 
is  not  likely  you'll  keep  your  word." 

"  I  am  not  trifling  with  you,"  he  said.  "  Marriage  is 
not  for  me.  There  is  a  dreadful  reason  why  I  cannot 
marry,  and  if  at  times  I  am  cold  toAvard  you,  it  is  be 
cause — because ' ' 

Rosamond's  eyes  were  riveted  upon  his  face  ; — darker 
and  darker  they  grew,  becoming  at  last  almost  black 
in  their  intensity.  She  was  beginning  to  understand 
him,  and  coloring  crimson,  she  answered  bitterly,  "  I 
know  what  you  would  say,  but  you  need  have  no  fears, 
for  I  never  aspired  to  that  honor.  Rosamond  Leyton 
has  yet  to  see  the  man  she  could  love." 

"  Rosamond,"  and  Mr.  Browning's  voice  was  so  low, 
so  mournful  in  its  tone  that  it  quelled  the  angry  feel 
ings  in  the  young  girl's  bosom,  and  she  offered  no  re 
sistance  when  he  came  to  her  side  and  took  her  hand 


34  ROSAMOND. 

in  his,  saying  as  he  did  so — "  Listen  to  me.  You  came 
here  a  little  girl,  and  at  first  I  did  not  heed  you,  but 
you  made  your  presence  felt  in  various  ways,  until  at 
last  I  thought  I  could  not  live  without  you.  You  are 
a  young  lady  now — the  world  calls  you  beautiful.  To 
me  you  are  beautiful.  Oh,  so  beautiful,"  and  he  laid 
one  hand  upon  her  shining  hair,  softly,  tenderly,  nay, 
proudly,  as  if  she  had  been  his  child.  "  I  am  not  old 
yet,  and  it  would  be  natural  that  we  should  love  each 
other,  but  we  must  not — we  cannot." 

"And  lest  I  should  love  you  too  well,  you  have 
tried  to  make  me  hate  you,"  interrupted  Rosamond, 
trying  in  vain  to  release  herself  from  his  powerful 
grasp,  and  adding,  "  but  you  can  spare  yourself  the 
trouble.  I  like  you  too  well  to  hate  you  ;  but  as  I 
live,  I  would  not  marry  you  if  I  could.  I  mean  what 
I  say  ! " 

He  released  her  hand,  and  returning  to  his  chair, 
laid  his  head  upon  the  table,  while  she  continued — "  I 
know  just  about  how  well  you  like  me — how  necessary 
I  am  to  your  comfort,  and  since  fate  has  decreed  that 
we  should  be  thrown  together,  let  us  contribute  to  each 
other's  happiness  as  far  as  in  us  lies.  I  will  think  of 
you  as  a  brother,  if  you  like,  and  you  shall  treat  me  as 
a  sister,  until  somebody  takes  me  off  your  hands. 
!N"o\v,  I  can't  say  /shall  never  marry,  for  I  verily  be 
lieve  I  shall.  Meantime,  you  must  think  of  me  just  as 
you  would  if  you  had  a  wife.  Is  it  a  bargain,  Mr. 
Browning  ? " 

She  spoke  playfully,  but  he  knew  she  was  in  earnest, 
and  from  his  inmost  soul  he  blessed  her  for  having 
thus  brought  the  conversation  to  a  close.  He  could 
not  tell  her  why  he  had  said  to  her  what  he  had — it 
was  not  what  he  intended  to  say,  and  he  knew  she  was 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  35 

in  a  measure  deceived,  but  he  could  not  explain  to  her 
now  ;  he  could  not  tell  her  that  he  trembled  for  him 
self  far  more  than  for  her,  and  it  was  not  for  her  then, 
to  know  how  much  he  loved  her,  nor  how  that  love 
was  wearing  his  life  away  because  of  its  great  sin. 
He  was  growing  old  now  very  fast.  The  shadows  of 
years  were  on  his  brow,  and  Rosamond  almost  fancied 
she  saw  his  brown  locks  turning  white.  She  was  a 
warm-hearted,  impulsive  girl,  and  going  toward  him, 
she  parted  from  his  forehead  the  hair  streaked  with 
gray,  saying  softly  to  him,  "  Shall  it  not  be  so  ?  May 
I  be  your  sister  ?  " 

"Yes,  Rosamond,  yes,"  was  his  answer;  and  then, 
wishing  to  bring  him  back  to  the  point  from  which 
they  started,  Rosamond  said  abruptly — "  And  what  of 
the^Springs  ?  Can  I  go  ?  " 

The  descent  was  a  rapid  one,  but  it  was  what  he 
needed,  and  lifting  up  his  head,  he  replied,  just  as  he 
had  done  before,  "  Do  you  want  to  go  ? " 

"  Not  as  much  as  I  did  when  I  thought  you  were 
angry,  and  if  you  would  rather,  I  had  quite  as  lief  stay 
with  you." 

"  Then  stay,"  he  said,  "  and  we  will  have  no  more 
misunderstandings." 

The  next  evening,  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  parlor,  a 
servant  brought  him  a  letter,  the  superscription  of 
which  made  him  reel,  as  if  he  would  have  fallen  to  the 
floor.  It  was  nearly  four  years  since  he  had  seen  that 
handwriting — he  had  hoped  never  to  look  upon  it  again 
— but  it  was  there  before  his  eyes,  and  she  who  wrote 
that  letter  was  coming  to  Riverside — "  would  be  there 
in  a  few  days,  Providence  permitting.  Do  not  commit 
suicide  on  my  account,"  she  wrote,  "  for  I  care  as  little 
as  yourself  to  have  our  secret  divulged,  and  unless  I 


36  ROSAMOND. 

find  that  you  are  after  other  prey,  I  shall  keep  my  own 
counsel." 

The  letter  dropped  from  his  nerveless  fingers — the 
objects  in  the  room  swam  before  his  eyes,  and  like  one 
on  whom  a  crushing  weight  has  fallen,  he  sat  bewil 
dered,  until  the  voice  of  Rosamond  aroused  him,  and 
fleeing  to  his  chamber  he  locked  the  door,  and  then  sat 
down  to  think.  She  was  coming  to  Riverside,  and 
•wherefore?  He  did  not  wish  for  a  reconciliation  now 
— he  would  rather  live  there  just  as  he  was,  with  Rosa 
mond. 

"  Nothing  will  escape  her,"  he  said  ;  "  those  basilisk 
eyes  will  see  everything — will  ferret  out  my  love  for 
that  fair  young  girl.  Oh,  Heaven,  is  there  no  es 
cape  !  " 

He  heard  the  voice  of  Anna  Lawrie  in  the  yard.  She 
was  coming  for  Rosamond's  decision,  and  quick  as 
thought  he  rang  the  bell,  bidding  the  servant  who  ap 
peared  to  send  Miss  Leyton  to  him. 

"  Rosamond,"  he  said,  when  she  came  to  the  door, 
"I  have  changed  my  mind.  You  must  go  to  the 
Springs." 

"  But  I'd  rather  stay  at  home — I  do  not  wish  to  go," 
she  said. 

"  I  say  you  'must.  So  tell  Miss  Lawrie  you  will,"  he 
answered,  and  his  eyes  flashed  almost  savagely  upon 
her. 

Rosamond  waited  for  no  more.  She  had  discovered 
the  impediment  to  his  marrying.  It  was  hereditary  in 
sanity,  and  she  had  seen  the  first  signs  of  it  in  him  her 
self !  Magnanimously  resolving  never  to  tell  a  human 
being,  nor  let  him  be  chained  if  she  could  help  it,  how 
ever  furious  he  might  become,  she  went  down  to  Miss 
Lawrie,  telling  her  she  would  go. 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER.  37 

One  week  from  that  day  was  fixed  upon  for  their 
departure,  and  during  that  time  Rosamond  was  too 
much  absorbed  in  dresses  and  finery  to  pay  much  heed 
to  Mr.  Browning.  Of  one  thing  she  was  sure,  though 
— he  was  crazy  •  for  what  else  made  him  stalk  up  and 
down  the  gravel-walk,  his  head  bent  forward,  and  his 
hands  behind  him,  as  if  intently  thinking.  Once,  when 
she  saw  him  thus,  she  longed  to  go  out  to  him,  to  tell 
him  she  knew  his  secret,  and  that  she  would  never 
leave  him,  however  unmanageable  he  should  become  ! 
But  his  manner  toward  her  now  was  so  strange  that 
she  dared  not,  and  she  was  almost  as  glad  as  himself 
when  at  last  the  morning  came  for  her  to  go. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,"  he  said,  as  they  stood  to 
gether  a  moment  alone.  "  Don't  write  until  you  hear 
from  me,  and  don't  come  home  until  I  send  for  you." 

"  And  suppose  the  Lawries  come,  what  then  ?  "  she 
asked,  and  he  replied,  "  No  matter ;  stay  until  I  write. 
Here  are  five  hundred  dollars  in  case  of  an  emergency," 
and  he  thrust  a  check  into  her  hand.  "  Stop,"  he  con 
tinued,  as  the  carriage  came  round — "  did  you  put  your 
clothes  away  where  no  one  can  see  them,  or  are  you 
taking  them  all  with  you  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  why  should  I  ? "  she  answered.  "  Ain't  I 
coming  back  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes — Heaven  only  knows,"  he  said.  "  Oh, 
Rosamond,  it  may  be  I  am  parting  with  you  forever, 
and  at  such  a  moment,  is  it  a  sin  for  you  to  kiss  me  ? 
You  asked  to  do  so  once.  Will  you  do  it  now  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  she  replied,  and  she  kissed,  unhesitatingly, 
his  quivering  lips. 

The  Lawries  were  at  the  door — Mrs.  Peters  also — 
and  forcing  down  his  emotion,  he  bade  her  a  calm 
good-by.  The  carriage  rolled  away,  but  ere  its  oc* 


38  ROSAMOND. 

cupants  were  six  miles  from  Riverside,  every  article  of 
dress  which  had  belonged  to  Rosamond  had  disap 
peared  from  her  room,  which  presented  the  appearance 
of  any  ordinary  bed-chamber,  and  when  Mrs.  Peters, 
in  great  alarm,  came  to  Mr.  Browning,  asking  what 
he  supposed  had  become  of  them,  he  answered  quietly 
— "  I  have  put  them  in  my  private  closet  and  locked 
them  up  1 " 


MARIE  PORTER.  39 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MAKIE    POETEB. 

THE  Hotels  were  crowded  with  visitors.  Every 

apartment  at Hall,  from  basement  to  attic,  was 

full,  save  two  small  rooms,  eight  by  ten,  so  dingy  and 
uncomfortable,  that  only  in  cases  of  emergency  were 
they  offered  to  guests.  These,  from  necessity,  were 
taken  by  the  Lawries,  but  for  Rosamond  there  was 
scarcely  found  a  standing  point,  unless  she  were  will 
ing  to  share  the  apartment  of  a  sick  lady,  who  had 
graciously  consented  to  receive  any  genteel,  well-bred 
person,  who  looked  as  though  they  would  be  quiet  and 
not  rummage  her  things  more  than  once  a  day  ! 

"  She  was  a  very  high-bred  woman,"  the  obsequious 
attendant  said,  "  and  her  room  the  best  in  the  house ; 
she  would  not  remain  much  longer,  and  when  she  was 
gone  the  young  lady  could  have  it  alone,  or  share  it 
with  her  companions.  It  contained  two  beds,  of 
course,  besides  a  few  nails  for  dresses." 

*'  Oh,  do  take  it,"  whispered  the  younger  Miss 
Lawrie,  who  was  not  yet  thoroughly  versed  in  the 
pleasures  of  a  watering  place,  and  who  cast  rueful 
glances  at  her  cheerless  pen,  so  different  from  her  airy 
chamber  at  home. 

So  Rosamond's  trunks  were  taken  to  No.  20,  whither 
she  herself  followed  them.  The  first  occupant,  it 
would  seem,  was  quite  an  invalid,  for  though  it  was 
four  in  the  afternoon,  she  was  still  in  bed.  Great 


40  ROSAMOND. 

pains,  however,  had  evidently  been  taken  with  her 
toilet,  and  nothing  could  have  been  more  perfect  than 
the  arrangement  of  her  pillows — her  hair — her  wrapper, 
and  the  crimson  shawl  she  wore  about  her  shoulders. 
Rosamond  bowed  to  her  politely,  and  then,  without 
noticing  her  particularly,  went  over  to  the  side  of  the 
room  she  supposed  was  to  be  hers.  She  had  just  lain 
aside  her  hat  when  the  lady  said,  "  That  open  blind 
lets  in  too  much  light.  Will  you  please  shut  it  Miss 
I  don't  know  what  to  call  you." 

"Miss  Leyton,"  answered  Rosamond,  "and  you 
are ': 

"  Miss  Porter,"  returned  the  speaker. 

"  Rosamond  started  quickly,  for  she  remembered  the 
name,  and  looking  for  the  first  time  directly  at  the 
lady,  she  met  a  pair  of  large  black  eyes  fixed  inquir 
ingly  upon  her. 

"  Leyton — Leyton,"  repeated  the  lady,  "  where  have 
I  heard  of  you  before  ?  " 

"  At  Atwater  Seminary,  perhaps,"  suggested  Rosa 
mond,  a  little  doubtful  as  to  the  manner  in  which  her 
intelligence  would  be  received. 

A  shadow  flitted  over  the  lady's  face,  but  it  was 
soon  succeeded  by  a  smile,  and  she  said  graciously, 
"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  You  annoyed  me  and  I  annoyed 
you.  It  was  an  even  thing,  and  since  we  are  thrown 
together  again,  we  will  not  quarrel  about  the  past. 
Ain't  you  going  to  close  that  blind  ?  The  light  shines 
full  in  my  face,  and,  as  1  did  not  sleep  one  wink  last 
night,  I  am  looking  horridly  to-day." 

"  Excuse  me,  madam,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  was  so 
taken  by  surprise  that  I  forgot  your  request,"  and  she 
proceeded  to  shut  the  blind. 

This  being  done,  she  divested  herself  of  her  soiled 

\ 


MARIE  PORTER.  41 

garments,  washed  her  face,  brushed  her  curls,  and  was 
about  going  in  quest  of  her  companions,  when  the  lady- 
asked  if  she  had  friends  there.  Rosamond  replied  that 
she  had,  at  the  same  time  explaining  how  uncomfort 
able  they  were. 

"  The  hotel  is  full,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  they  all 
envy  me  my  room ;  but  if  I  pay  for  the  best,  I  am 
surely  entitled  to  the  best.  I  shall  not  remain  here 
long,  however.  Indeed,  I  did  not  expect  to  be  here 
no\v,  but  sickness  overtook  me.  I  dare  say  I  am  the 
subject  of  many  anxious  thoughts  to  the  person  I  am 
going  to  visit." 

There  was  a  half-exultant  expression  upon  the  lady's 
face  as  she  uttered  these  last  words,  but  in  the  darkened 
room,  Rosamond  did  not  observe  it.  She  was  sorry 
for  one  thus  detained  against  her  will,  and  leaning 
against  the  foot-board,  she  said,  "  You  suffer  a  great 
deal  from  ill  health,  do  you  not?  Have  you  always 
been  an  invalid  ?  " 

"  Not  always.  I  was  very  healthy  once,  but  a  great 
trouble  came  upon  me,  shocking  my  nervous  system 
terribly,  and  since  then  I  have  never  seen  a  well  day. 
I  was  young  when  it  occurred — about  your  age,  I  think. 
How  old  are  you,  Miss  Leyton  ?  " 

"I  am  eighteen  next  October,"  was  Rosamond's 
reply,  and  the  lady  continued,  "  I  was  older  than  that. 
Most  nineteen.  I  am  twenty-eight  now." 

Rosamond  did  not  know  why  she  said  it,  but  she  re 
joined  quickly,  "  Twenty-eight.  So  is  Mr.  Browning ! " 

"  Who  f  exclaimed  the  lady,  the  tone  of  her  voice 
so  sharp — so  loud  and  earnest,  that  Rosamond  was 
startled,  and  did  not  answer  for  an  instant. 

When  she  did,  she  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon ;  it  is 
Mr.  Browning  who  is  twenty-eight." 


42  ROSAMOND. 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  did  not  quite  understand  you.  I'm  a 
little  hard  of  hearing.  Who  is  Mr.  Browning  ?  " 

The  voice  had  assumed  its  usually  soft,  smooth  tone, 
and  Rosamond  could  not  see  the  rapid  beatings  of  the 
heart,  nor  the  eager  curiosity  lurking  in  the  glittering 
black  e}res.  The  lady  seemed  indifferent,  and  smoothed 
carelessly  the  rich  Valenciennes  lace,  which  edged  the 
sleeve  of  her  cambric  wrapper. 

"  Did  you  tell  me  who  Mr.  Browning  was,  dear  ? " 
and  the  black  eyes  wandered  over  the  counterpane, 
looking  everywhere  but  at  Rosamond,  so  fearful  was 
their  owner  lest  they  should  betray  the  interest  she  felt 
in  the  answer. 

"  Mr.  Browning,"  said  Rosamond,  "  is — is — I  hardly 
know  what  he  is  to  me.  I  went  to  his  house  to  live 
when  I  was  a  little,  friendless  orphan,  and  he  very 
kindly  educated  me,  and  made  me  what  I  am.  I  live 
with  him  still  at  Riverside." 

"  Ye-es — Riverside — beau-ti-ful  name — his  country- 
seat — I — sup-pose,"  the  words  dropped  syllable  by 
syllable  from  the  white  lips,  but  there  was  no  quiver 
in  the  voice — no  ruffle  upon  her  face. 

Raising  herself  upon  her  elbow,  the  lady  continued, 
"  Pray  don't  think  me  fidgety,  but  won't  you  please 
open  that  shutter.  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  so  dark. 
There,  that's  a  good  girl.  Now,  come  and  sit  by  me 
on  the  bed,  and  tell  me  of  Riverside.  Put  your  feet  in 
the  chair,  or  take  this  pillow.  There,  turn  a  little  more 
to  the  light.  I  like  to  see  people  when  they  talk  to  me." 

Rosamond  complied  with  each  request,  and  then, 
never  dreaming  of  the  close  examination  to  which  her 
face  was  subjected,  she  began  to  speak  of  her  beautiful 
home — describing  it  minutely,  and  dwelling  some 
what  at  length  upon  the  virtues  of  its  owner. 


MARIE  PORTER.  43 

"  You  like  him  very  much,"  the  lady  said,  nodding  a 
little  affirmative  nod  to  her  own  question. 

"  Yes,  very — very  much,"  was  Rosamond's  answer  ; 
and  the  lady  continued,  "  And  Mrs.  Browning  ?  Do 
you  like  her,  too  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  Mrs.  Browning,"  returned  Rosamond, 
adding  quickly,  as  she  saw  in  her  auditor's  face  an  ex 
pression  she  did  not  understand,  "  but  it  is  perfectly 
proper  I  should  live  there,  for  Mrs.  Peters,  the  house 
keeper,  has  charge  of  me." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  he  will  marry  you,"  and  the  jeweled 
hands  worked  nervously  under  the  crimson  shawl. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  won't,"  said  Rosamond,  decidedly, 
"he's  too  old  for  me.  Why,  his  hair  is  turning 
gray ! " 

"  That's  nothing,"  answered  the  lady,  a  little  sharply. 
"  Everybody's  hair  turns  early  now-a-days.  Sarah 
found  three  or  four  silver  threads  in  mine,  this  morn 
ing.  Miss  Ley  ton,  don't  you  love  Mr.  Browning  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,"  Rosamond  began,  and  the  face  upon 
the  pillow  assumed  a  dark  and  almost  fiendish  expres 
sion.  "  Why,  yes,  I  love  him  as  a  brother,  but  nothing 
else.  I  respect  him  for  his  goodness,  but  it  would  be 
impossible  to  love  him  with  a  marrying  love." 

The  fierce  expression  passed  away,  and  Miss  Porter 
was  about  to  speak  when  Anna  Lawrie  sent  for  Rosa 
mond,  who  excused  herself  and  left  the  room,  thinking 
that,  after  all,  she  should  like  her  old  enemy  of  At- 
water  Seminary  very  much. 

Meantime  "  the  enemy  "  had  buried  her  face  in  her 
pillows,  and  clenching  her  blue  veined  fists,  struck  at 
the  empty  air,  just  as  she  would  have  struck  at  the 
owner  of  Riverside  had  he  been  standing  there. 

"  Fine  time  he  has  of  it,"  she  muttered,  "  living  there 


44  ROSAMOND. 

with  her,  and  she  so  young  and  beautiful.  I  could 
have  strangled  her — the  jade  ! — when  she  sat  here 
talking  so  enthusiastically  to  me,  of  him  f  And  she 
loves  him,  too.  I  know  she  does,  though  she  don't 
know  it  herself.  But  I  must  be  wary.  I  must  seem 
to  like  this  girl — must  win  her  confidence — so  I  can 
probe  her  heart  to  its  core,  and  if  I  find  they  love 
each  other !  " — she  paused  a  moment,  then  grinding 
her  teeth  together,  added  slowly,  as  if  the  sound  of 
her  voice  were  musical  and  sweet,  "  Marie  Porter  will 
be  avenged ! " 

That  strange  woman  could  be  a  demon  or  an  angel, 
and  as  the  latter  character  suited  her  just  now,  Rosa 
mond,  on  her  return  to  her  room,  found  her  all  gentle 
ness  and  love. 

That  night,  when  all  around  the  house  was  still,  the 
full  moon  shone  down  upon  a  scene  which  would  have 
chilled  the  blood  of  Ralph  Browning  and  made  his 
heart  stand  still.  Upon  a  single  bedstead  near  the 
window  Rosamond  Leyton  lay  calmly  sleeping — her 
brown  curls  floating  o'er  the  pillow — her  cheeks  flushed 
with  health  and  beauty — her  lips  slightly  apart  and 
her  slender  hands  folded  gracefully  upon  her  bosom. 
Over  her  a  fierce  woman  bent — her  long,  black  hair 
streaming  down  her  back — her  eyes  blazing  with  pas 
sion — her  face  the  impersonation  of  malignity  and  hate ; 
and  there  she  stood,  a  vulture  watching  a  harmless 
dove.  Rosamond  was  dreaming  of  her  home,  and  the 
ogress,  standing  near  heard  her  murmur,  "  dear  Mr. 
Browning." 

For  a  moment  Marie  Porter  stood  immovable— then 
gliding  back  to  her  own  couch,  she  whispered,  "  It  is 
as  I  believed,  and  now  if  he  loves  her,  the  time  I've 
waited  for  so  long  has  come." 


MARIE  PORTER.  45 

All  that  night  she  lay  awake,  burning  with  excite 
ment  and  thirsting  for  revenge,  and  when  the  morn 
ing  came,  the  illness  was  not  feigned  which  kept  her 
in  her  bed  and  wrung  from  her  cries  of  pain.  She  was 
really  suffering  now,  and  during  the  next  few  days, 
Rosamond  stayed  almost  constanly  at  her  side;  adminis 
tering  to  her  wants,  and  caring  for  her  so  tenderly  that 
hatred  died  out  of  the  woman's  heart,  and  she  pitied 
the  fair  young  girl,  for  in  those  few  days  she  had 
learned  what  Rosamond  did  not  know  herself,  though 
she  was  gradually  waking  up  to  it  now.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  she  had  been  separated  from  Mr.  Browning, 
and  she  missed  him  so  much,  following  him  in  fancy 
through  the  day,  and  at  night  wondering  if  he  were 
thinking  of  her,  and  wishing  he  could  hear  the  sound 
of  her  voice  singing  to  him  as  she  was  wont  to  do  when 
the  twilight  was  over  the  earth.  Anon  there  crept 
into  her  heart  a  feeling  she  could  not  define — a  fe 
verish  longing  to  be  where  he  was — a  sense  of  desolation 
and  terrible  pain  when  she  thought  of  his  insanity,  and 
the  long,  dreary  years  which  might  ensue  when  he 
would  lose  all  knowledge  of  her.  She  did  not  care  to 
talk  so  much  of  him  now,  but  Miss  Porter  cared  to 
have  her,  and  caressingly  winning  the  girl's  confidence, 
learned  almost  every  thing — learned  that  there  was 
an  impediment  to  his  marrying,  and  that  Rosamond 
believed  that  impediment  to  be  hereditary  insanity — 
learned  that  he  was  often  fitful  and  gloomy,  treating 
his  ward  sometimes  with  coldness,  and  again  with  the 
utmost  tenderness.  Of  the  interview  in  the  library 
Rosamond  did  not  tell,  but  she  told  of  everything  else 
— of  his  refusing  to  let  her  come  to  the  Springs  and 
then  compelling  her,  against  her  will,  to  go ;  and 
Marie  Porter,  holding  the  little  hands  in  hers,  and 


46  ROSAMOND. 

listening  to  the  story,  read  it  all,  and  read  it  aright, 
gloating  over  the  anguish  she  knew  it  cost  Ralph 
Browning  to  see  that  beautiful  girl  each  day  and  know 
lie  must  not  win  her. 

"  But  I  pity  her"  she  said,  "  for  there  is  coming  to 
her  a  terrible  awakening." 

Then,  for  no  other  reason  than  a  thirst  for  excite 
ment,  she  longed  to  see  that  awakening,  and  one  day 
when  they  sat  together  alone,  she  took  Rosamond's 
hand  in  hers,  and  examining  its  scarcely  legible  lines, 
said,  half  playfully,  half  seriously,  "  Rosamond,  people 
have  called  me  a  fortune-teller.  I  inherited  the  gift 
from  my  grandmother,  and  though  I  do  not  pretend  to 
much  skill,  I  can  surely  read  your  destiny.  You  love 
Mr.  Browning.  I  have  known  that  all  along.  You 
think  of  him  by  day — you  dream  of  him  by  night,  and 
no  thought  is  half  so  sweet  as  the  thought  of  going 
home  to  him.  But,  Rosamond,  you  will  not  marry 
him.  There  is  an  impediment,  as  you  say,  but  not  in 
sanity.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  is,  but  I  can  see," 
and  she  bent  nearer  to  the  hand  which  trembled  in  her 
own.  "  I  can  see  that  for  you  to  marry  him,  or — mark 
me,  Rosamond — for  you  even  to  love  him,  is  a  most 
wicked  thing — a  dreadful  sin  in  the  sight  of  Heaven, 
and  you  must  forget  him — will  you  ?" 

Rosamond  had  laid  her  face  upon  the  bed  and  was 
sobbing  hysterically,  for  Miss  Porter's  manner  fright 
ened  her  even  more  than  her  words.  In  reply  to  the 
question,  "Will  you?"  she  at  last  answered  passion 
ately,  "  N<>)  1  won't !  "  It  is  not  wicked  to  love  him 
as  I  do.  I  am  his  sister,  nothing  more." 

Miss  Porter's  lip  curled  scornfully  a  moment,  and 
then  she  said,  "  Let  me  tell  you  the  story  of  my  life, 
shall  1 2 " 


MARIE  PORTER.  47 

No  answer  from  Rosamond,  and  the  lady  continued  : 
"  When  I  was  about  your  age  I  fancied  I  loved  a  man 
who,  I  think,  must  have  been  much  like  Mr.  Brown- 
ing- 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  Rosamond.  "  Nobody  was 
ever  like  Mr.  Browning.  I  don't  want  to  hear  the 
story.  I  don't  want  anything  but  to  go  home." 

I  will  not  tell  her  until  it's  more  necessary,  thought 
Miss  Porter,  but  if  I  mistake  not  she  will  go  home 
much  sooner  than  she  anticipates.  And  she  was  right, 
for  on  that  very  night  Mr.  Browning  sat  reading  a 
letter  which  ran  as  follows  : 

"  I  find  myself  so  happy  with  your  little  Rosamond, 
who  chances  to  be  my  room-mate,  that  I  have  post 
poned  my  visit  to  Riverside  until  some  future  time, 
which,  if  you  continue  neutral,  may  never  come — but 
the  moment  you  trespass  on  forbidden  ground,  or 
breathe  a  word  of  love  into  her  ear — beware  !  She 
loves  you.  I  have  found  that  out,  and  I  tell  it  because 
I  know  it  will  not  make  your  life  more  happy,  or  your 
punishment  easier  to  bear !  " 

He  did  not  shriek — he  did  not  faint — he  did  not 
move— but  from  between  his  teeth  two  words  came  like 
a  burning  hiss,  "  Curse  her  !  "  Then,  seizing  his  pen, 
he  dashed  off  a  few  lines,  bidding  Rosamond  "not  to 
delay  a  single  moment,  but  to  come  home  at  once." 

"  She  knows  it  all,"  he  said,  "  and  now,  if  she  comes 
here,  it  will  not  be  much  worse.  I  can  but  die,  let 
what  will  happen." 

This  letter  took  Rosamond  and  the  Lawries  by  sur 
prise  but  not  so  Miss  Porter.  She  expected  it,  and  when 
she  saw  how  eager  Rosamond  was  to  go,  she  smiled  a 
hard  bitter  smile,  and  said,  "  I've  a  half  a  mind  to  go 
with  you." 


48  ROSAMOND. 

"  WJiat  !  where  ?  To  Riverside  f  "  asked  Rosa 
mond,  suspending  her  preparations  for  a  moment,  and 
hardly  knowing  whether  she  were  pleased  or  not. 

"  Yes,  to  Riverside,"  returned  Miss  Porter, "  though 
on  the  whole,  I  think  I'd  better  not.  Mr.  Browning 
may  not  care  to  see  me.  If  he  does,  you  can  write  and 
let  me  know.  Give  him  my  love,  and  say  that  if  you 
had  not  described  him  as  so  incorrigible  an  old  bach, 
I  might  be  coming  there  to  try  my  powers  upon  him. 
I  am  irresistible  in  my  diamonds.  Be  sure  and  tell 
him  that ;  and  stay,  Rosamond,  I  must  give  you  some 
little  token  of  my  affection.  What  shall  it  be  ?  "  and 
she  feigned  to  be  thinking. 

Most  cruel  must  her  thoughts  have  been,  and  even 
she  hesitated  a  moment  ere  she  could  bring  herself  to 
such  an  act.  Then  with  a  contemptuous  "  Pshaw  !  " 
she  arose  and  opening  her  jewel  box  took  from  a 
private  drawer  a  plain  gold  ring,  bearing  date  nine 
years  back,  and  having  inscribed  upon  it  simply  her 
name  "  Marie."  This  she  brought  to  Rosamond,  say 
ing,  "  I  can't  wear  it  now  ; — my  hands  are  too  thin  and 
bony,  but  it  just  fits  you, — see — "  and  she  placed  it 
upon  the  third  finger  of  Rosamond's  left  hand ! 

Rosamond  thanked  her,  admired  the  chaste  beauty 
of  the  ring  and  then  went  on  with  her  packing,  while 
the  wicked  woman  seated  herself  by  the  window  and 
leaning  her  head  upon  her  hands  tried  to  quiet  the 
voice  of  conscience  which  cried  out  against  the  deed 
she  had  done. 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  she  thought.  "  That  tie  was 
severed  years  ago, — by  his  own  act,  too.  The  ring 
shall  go.  But  will  he  see  it !  Men  do  not  always  ob 
serve  such  things,"  and  then,  lest  he  should  not  quaff 
the  cup  of  bitterness  prepared  for  him,  she  wrote  on  a 


MARIE  PORTER.  49 

tiny  sheet  of  gilt-edged  paper,  "  Look  on  Rosamond's 
third  finger  !  " 

This  she  carefully  sealed  and  gave  to  Rosamond, 
bidding  her  hand  it  to  Mr.  Browning,  and  saying  in 
answer  to  her  look  of  inquiry,  "  It  is  about  a  little 
matter  concerning  yourself.  He  can  show  it  to  you, 
if  he  thinks  proper !  " 

"  The  omnibus,  Miss,  for  the  cars,"  cried  a  servant 
at  the  door,  and  with  a  hurried  good-bye  to  her  friends, 
Rosamond  departed  and  was  soon  on  her  way  to  River- 
aide. 


60  ROSAMOND. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MAKING  LOVE. 

AN  accident  had  occurred  to  the  downward  train, 
and  Rosamond  was  detained  upon  the  road  for  a  long 
time,  so  that  it  was  already  dark  when  she  reached  the 
Granby  depot.  Wishing  to  surprise  Mr.  Browning 
she  started  for  home  on  foot,  leaving  her  trunks  in 
charge  of  the  baggage  master.  All  around  the  house 
was  still,  and  stepping  into  the  hall  she  was  about 
passing  up  the  stairs,  when  the  parlor  door  suddenly 
opened,  throwing  a  glare  of  light  upon  her  face.  The 
same  instant  some  one  caught  her  round  the  neck,  and 
kissing  her  twice,  only  released  her  when  she  exclaimed, 
"  Mr.  Browning,  I  am  surprised  at  you  !  " 

"  Mr.  Browning !  Thunder  !  Just  as  though  I  was 
my  uncle  ! "  cried  a  familiar  voice,  and  looking  at  the 
speaker,  Rosamond  recognized  Ben  Van  Vechten! 
He  had  come  to  Riverside  the  day  previous,  he  said, 
and  hearing  she  was  expected,  had  waited  at  the  depot 
four  mortal  hours,  and  then  returned  in  disgust. 

"  But  how  did  you  know  me  ? "  she  asked,  and  he 
replied,  "  By  your  daguerreotype,  of  course.  There  is 
but  one  such  beautiful  face  in  the  whole  world." 

He  was  disposed  to  be  complimentary,  and  Rosa 
mond  was  not  sorry  when  his  mother  appeared,  for  in 
her  presence  he  was  tolerably  reserved.  Mrs.  Van 
Vechten  greeted  Rosamond  politely,  but  the  old 
hauteur  was  there,  and  her  manner  seemed  to  say,  "  If 


MAKING  LOVE.  51 

you  are  educated  and  refined,  I  can't  forget  that  you 
were  once  my  waiting-maid." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Browning  ?  "  asked  Rosamond,  and 
Ben  replied,  "  Oh,  up  in  his  den  having  the  shakes. 
He  mopes  there  all  the  time.  Can't  you  break  him  of 
the  blues?" 

"  I'll  go  and  try,"  answered  Rosamond,  and  she 
started  up  the  stairs,  followed  by  Ben,  whose  mother 
called  him  back,  bidding  him,  in  a  low  voice,  stay 
where  he  was,  and  not  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

She  could  trust  her  brot/ier,  but  not  her  son,  and  she 
thus  did  the  former  the  greatest  favor  she  could  have 
done — she  let  him  meet  young  Rosamond  Leyton  alone. 
The  evening  was  quite  chilly  for  July,  and  as,  since 
the  receipt  of  Miss  Porter's  note,  Mr.  Browning  had 
seemed  rather  agueish,  there  was  a  fire  burning  in 
the  grate,  and  it  cast  its  shadows  upon  him  as  he  sat 
in  his  accustomed  chair.  His  back  was  toward  the 
door,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  Rosamond's  return 
until  two  soft,  white  hands  were  placed  before  his 
eyes,  and  a  voice  which  tried  to  be  unnatural,  said, 
"  Guess  who  I  am." 

"  Rosamond — darling — have  you  come  back  to  me 
again  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  and  starting  up,  he  wound  his 
arm  about  her,  and  looked  into  her  face,  expecting, 
momentarily,  to  hear  her  say,  "  Yes,  I  know  it  all." 

But  Rosamond  did  not  say  so.  She  merely  told  him 
how  glad  she  was  to  be  at  home  once  more,  in  her 
delight  forgetting  that  Marie  Porter  had  said  she  loved 
the  man  who  held  her  closely  to  his  side  and  smoothed 
her  wavy  hair  even  while  his  heart  throbbed  pain 
fully  with  memories  of  the  past  and  trembled  for  the 
future.  He  longed  to  speak  of  her  room-mate,  but 
he  dared  not  betray  his  knowledge  of  her  existence, 


52  ROSAMOND. 

and  he  sat  there  waiting,  yet  dreading-  to  hear  the 
hated  name. 

"  Did  you  room  alone  ? "  he  asked  at  last,  and  now 
remembering  the  words,  "  You  do  love  him,"  Rosa 
mond  moved  quickly  from  his  side.  "  She  does  know," 
he  thought,  and  a  silent  moan  of  anguish  died  upon  his 
lips.  But  Rosamond  did  not  know — the  movement 
was  actuated  by  mere  maidenly  reserve,  and  sitting 
down  directly  opposite  him,  she  told  him  of  Miss  Porter, 
whom  she  said  she  liked  so  well. 

"  How  much  of  an  invalid  is  she  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Browning,  when  he  could  trust  his  voice  to  speak. 

"  Her  health  is  miserable,"  returned  Rosamond. 
She  has  heart  disease,  and  her  waiting-maid  told 
me  she  was  liable  to  die  at  any  time  if  unusually 
excited." 

It  might  have  been  because  Rosamond  was  there 
that  Mr.  Browning  thought  the  room  was  brighter 
than  it  had  been  before,  and  quite  calmly  he  listened 
while  she  told  him  more  of  her  new  friend. 

"  She  seemed  so  interested  in  you,  and  in  Riverside,'' 
said  Rosamond,  "  and  even  proposed  coming  home 
with  me " 

Mr.  Browning  started  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  a 
coal  snapped  out  upon  the  carpet.  This  was  an  excuse 
for  his  movement,  and  Rosamond  continued,  "  She 
thought,  though,  you  might  not  care  to  see  her,  being 

a  stranger,  but  she  sent  you  her  love,  and .  You 

are  cold,  ain't  you,  Mr.  Browning  ?  You  shiver  like  a 
leaf.  Ben  said  you'd  had  the  ague." 

Rosamond  closed  the  door  and  commenced  again. 
"  Where  was  I  ?  Oh,  I  know.  She  said  if  you  were 
not  a  confirmed  bachelor  she  would  try  her  powers  on 
you.  '/She  was  irresistible  in  her  diamonds,'  she  bade 


MAKING  LOVE.  53 

me  tell  you.  But  have  you  an  ague  chill,  really  ?  or 
what  makes  your  teeth  chatter  so  ?  Shall  I  ring  for 
more  coal  ? " 

"  No,  Eosamond,  no.  Fire  does  not  warm  me ;  I 
shall  be  better  soon." 

Kosamond  pitied  him,  he  looked  so  white  and  seemed 
to  be  suffering  so  much,  and  she  remained  silent  for  a 
time.  Then  remembering  the  note,  she  handed  it  to 
him,  and  turning  toward  the  fire,  stooped  down  to  fix 
a  bit  of  coal  which  was  in  danger  of  dropping  from  the 
grate.  While  in  this  attitude  a  cry  between  a  howl  of 
rage  and  a  moan  of  anguish  fell  upon  her  ear — her 
shoulders  were  grasped  by  powerful  hands,  and  looking 
up  she  saw  Mr.  Browning,  his  face  distorted  with 
passion  and  his  flashing  eyes  riveted  upon  the  ring 
glittering  in  the  firelight.  Seizing  her  hand  he 
wrenched  it  from  her  finger,  and  glanced  at  the 
name — then,  swift  as  thought,  placed  it  upon  the  marble 
hearth,  and  crushed  it  with  his  heel. 

"  It's  mine — you've  broken  it,"  cried  Eosamond,  but 
he  did  not  heed  her,  and  gathering  up  the  pieces,  he 
hurled  them  into  the  grate — then,  pale  as  ashes,  sank 
panting  into  the  nearest  chair. 

Eosamond  was  thunder-struck.  She  did  not  suppose 
he  had  had  time  to  read  the  note,  and  never  dreaming 
there  was  any  connection  between  that  and  his  strange 
conduct,  she  believed  him  to  be  raving  mad,  and  her 
first  impulse  was  to  fly.  Her  second  thought,  however, 
was,  "  I  will  not  leave  him.  He  has  these  fits  often, 
now,  I  know,  and  that  is  why  he  sent  for  me.  He 
knew  I  could  quiet  him,  and  I  will." 

So  Eosamond  stayed,  succeeding  so  far  in  soothing 
him,  that  his  eyes  lost  their  savage  gleam,  and  were 
suffused  with  a  look  of  unnatural  tenderness  when  they 


54  ROSAMOND. 

rested  on  her  face.  He  did  not  ask  her  how  she  came 
by  the  ring  for  he  knew  it  had  been  sent  as  an  insult 
to  him,  and  he  felt  a  gloAV  of  satisfaction  in  knowing 
that  it  was  blackening  on  the  grate.  Ben's  voice  was 
now  heard  in  the  hall,  asking  if  they  intended  staying 
there  all  night,  and  in  a  whisper  Mr.  Browning  bade 
Rosamond  go  down  and  apologize  for  him.  She  accord 
ingly  descended  to  the  parlor,  telling  Mrs.  Van  Yechten 
that  her  brother  was  too  much  indisposed  to  come 
down,  and  wished  to  be  excused.  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten 
bowed  coolly,  and  taking  a  book  of  prints,  busied  her 
self  for  awhile  in  examining  them  ;  then  the  book 
dropped  from  her  hand — her  head  fell  back — her  mouth 
fell  open,  and  Ben,  who  was  anxiously  watching  her, 
knew  by  unmistakable  sounds  that  she  was  fast  asleep. 
It  was  now  his  time,  and  faithfully  did  he  improve  it, 
devoting  himself  so  assiduously  to  Rosamond,  that  she 
was  glad  when  a  snore,  louder  and  more  prolonged 
than  any  which  had  preceded  it  started  the  lady  her 
self,  and  produced  symptoms  of  returning  conscious 
ness. 

The  next  day,  and  the  next,  it  was  the  same,  and  at 
the  expiration  of  a  week,  Ben  had  determined  either  to 
marry  Rosamond  Leyton,  or  go  to  the  Crimean  War, 
this  last  being  the  bugbear  with  which  he  intended 
frightening  his  mother  into  a  consent.  He  hardly 
dared  disobey  her  openly  for  fear  of  disinheritance,  and 
he  would  rather  she  should  express  her  willingness  to 
receive  Miss  Leyton  as  her  daughter.  He  accordingly 
startled  her  one  day  by  asking  her  to  sanction  his  in 
tended  proposal  to  the  young  girl.  Nothing  could 
exceed  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten's  amazement  and  contempt. 
She  would  never  consent,  and  if  Ben  persisted  in  mak 
ing  so  disgraceful  an  alliance,  she  would  disinherit  him 


MAKING  LOVE.  55 

at  once.  Ben  knew  she  was  in  earnest,  and  so  fell  back 
upon  the  Crimean  war  as  a  last  resort.  "  He  would  go 
immediately — would  start  that  very  day  for  New  York 
— he  had  money  enough  to  carry  him  there,"  and  he 
painted  so  vividly  "death  on  a  distant  battle-field,  with 
a  ferocious  Russian  rifling  his  trousers'  pocket,"  that 
his  mother  began  to  cry,  though  she  still  refused  to 
relent. 

"  Choose,  mother,  choose,"  said  he.  "  It's  almost  car 
time — Rosamond  or  the  war,"  and  he  drew  on  his  heavy 
boots. 

"  Oh,  Benjamin,  you  will  kill  me  dead." 

"  I  know  it.  I  mean  to.  Rosamond  or  the  war !  " 
and  he  buttoned  up  his  coat  preparatory  to  a  start. 

"  Do,  Ben,  listen  to  reason." 

"  I  won't — I  won't ; — Rosamond  or  the  war !  I 
shall  rush  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  and  be  killed 
the  first  fire,  of  course,  and  black  is  so  unbecoming  to 
you." 

"  Stop,  I  entreat.  You  know  you  are  afraid  of  can 
nons  ;  "  this  was  said  beseechingly. 

"  Thunder,  mother !  No,  I  ain't !  Rosamond  or 
the  war — choose  quick.  I  hear  the  whistle  at  East 
Granby." 

He  left  the  room — went  down  the  stairs,  out  at  the 
door,  through  the  yard,  and  out  into  the  avenue,  while 
his  distracted  mother  looked  after  him  through  blind 
ing  tears.  She  knew  how  determined  he  was  when 
once  his  mind  was  made  up,  and  she  feared  his  present 
excitement  would  last  until  he  was  fairly  shipped,  and 
it  was  too  late  to  return.  He  would  never  fight,  she 
was  sure,  and  at  the  first  battle-sound  he  would  fly,  and 
be  hung  as  a  deserter,  no  doubt !  This  touched  her 
pride.  She  would  rather  people  should  say  of  her  boy 


56  ROSAMOND. 

that  he  married  a  milliner's  daughter  than  that  he  was 
hung,  and  hurrying  to  the  window  just  as  Ben  looked 
back,  hoping  for  a  signal,  she  waved  her  hand  for  him 
to  return,  calling  out  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  "  I  relent 
—I  relent." 

"  I  knew  the  Crimea  would  fetch  her,"  said  Ben ; 
"  lucky  I  thought  of  that,"  and  without  going  to  his 
mother  at  all,  he  sought  out  Rosamond.  Half  an  hour 
later  he  astonished  the  former  by  rushing  into  her 
presence,  and  exclaiming,  "  She's  refused  me,  mother  ; 
and  she  meant  it,  too.  Oh,  I  shall  die — I  know  I  shall. 
Oh,  oh,  oh  !  "  and  Ben  rolled  on  the  floor  in  his  frantic 
grief.  As  nearly  as  she  could,  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten 
learned  the  particulars  of  his  interview  with  Rosamond, 
and,  though  at  first  secretly  pleased  that  he  had  been 
refused,  she  felt  a  very  little  piqued  that  her  son  should 
thus  be  dishonored,  and  when  she  saw  how  wretched 
it  had  made  him,  her  feelings  were  enlisted  in  his  behalf, 
and  she  tried  to  soothe  him  by  saying  that  her  brother 
had  a  great  deal  of  influence  with  Rosamond,  and  they 
would  refer  the  matter  to  him. 

"  Go  now,  mother.  Don't  wait  a  minute,"  pleaded 
Ben,  and  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  started  for  her  brother's 
library. 

She  found  him  alone,  and  disclosed  the  object  of  her 
visit  at  once.  Rosamond  had  refused  her  son,  who,  in 
consequence,  was  nearly  distracted,  and  threatened 
going  to  the  Crimean  war — a  threat  she  knew  he  would 
execute  unless  her  brother  persuaded  Rosamond  to 
revoke  her  decision,  and  think  again. 

Mr.  Browning  turned  as  white  as  marble,  but  his 
sister  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  matters  to 
heed  his  emotions,  and  she  continued — 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  mortifying  to  us  all  to  have 


MAKING  LOVE.  57 

her  in  the  family,  and  maybe  Ben  will  get  over  it ;  but 
they  must  be  engaged  somehow,  or  he'll  go  away.  I'll 
send  her  up  to  you  immediately,"  and  she  hurriedly 
left  the  room  in  quest  of  Rosamond.  For  a  moment 
Mr.  Browning  sat  like  one  stupefied  ;  then,  covering  his 
face  with  his  hands,  he  moaned,  "  Must  this  come  upon 
me,  too  ?  Must  I,  who  love  her  so  madly,  bid  her  marry 
another?  And  yet  what  does  it  matter?  She  can 
never  be  mine — and  if  she  marries  Ben  I  can  keep  them 
with  me  always,  and  that  vile  woman  will  have  no 
cause  for  annoying  me.  She  said  Rosamond  loved  me, 
but  I  pray  Heaven  that  may  not  be  so." 

A  light  tread  echoed  in  the  hall,  and  with  each  fall 
of  those  little  feet,  Ralph  Browning's  heart  throbbed 
painfully.  Another  moment  and  Rosamond  was  there 
with  him — her  cheeks  flushed — her  eyelashes  wet  with 
tears,  and  her  whole  manner  betrayed  an  unusual  de 
gree  of  excitement. 

"  I  understand  from  your  sister,"  said  she,  "  that  you 
wish  me  to  marry  Ben,  or  leave  your  house.  I  will  do 
the  latter,  but  the  former — never !  Shall  I  consider 
our  interview  at  an  end  ?  " 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  Mr.  Browning 
caught  her  dress,  exclaiming,  "  Stay,  Rosamond,  and 
hear  me.  I  never  uttered  such  words  to  Mrs.  Yan 
Yechten.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  marry  Ben,  unless  you 
love  him.  Do  you  love  him,  Rosamond  ?  Do  you  love 
anybody  ?  " 

This  was  not  what  he  intended  to  say — but  he  had 
said  it,  and  now  he  waited  for  her  answer.  To  the 
first  question  it  came  in  a  decided  "  No,  I  do  not  love 
him,"  and  to  the  last  it  came  in  burning  blushes,  steal 
ing  over  her  cheek — her  forehead — her  neck,  and  speak 
ing  in  her  downcast  eye.  She  had  never  believed  that 


58  ROSAMOND. 

she  did  love  her  guardian,  until  told  that  he  wished  her 
to  marry  another,  when  it  burst  upon  her  in  all  its 
force,  and  she  could  no  more  conceal  it  now  than  she 
could  stop  the  rapid  beatings  of  her  heart.  He  saw  it 
all  in  her  tell-tale  face,  and  forgetting  everything,  he 
wound  his  arms  around  her,  and  drawing  her  to  his 
side,  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Darling  Rosamond,  say 
that  you  love  me.  Let  me  hear  that  assurance  once, 
and  I  shall  be  almost  willing  to  die." 

"  Ladies  do  not  often  confess  an  attachment  until 
sure  it  is  returned,"  was  Rosamond's  answer,  and 
doubly  forgetful  now  of  all  the  dreary  past,  Ralph 
Browning  poured  into  her  ear  hot,  burning  words  of 
love — hugging  her  closer  and  closer  to  him  until  through 
the  open  window  came  the  sound  of  Mr.  Peters's  voice 
calling  to  the  stranger  girl  who  had  that  morning  en 
tered  service  at  Riverside  as  a  waiting-maid  in  general. 
Maria  was  the  name,  and  as  the  ominous  word  fell 
upon  Mr.  Browning's  ear,  he  started,  and  pushing 
Rosamond  from  him,  turned  his  face  away  so  she  could 
not  see  the  expression  of  mute  despair  settling  down 
upon  it.  Sinking  upon  the  lounge  he  buried  his  face 
in  its  cushions  while  Rosamond  looked  curiously  upon 
him,  feeling  sure  that  she  knew  what  it  was  that  so 
affected  him.  He  had  told  her  of  his  love — had  said 
that  she  was  dearer  to  him  than  his  life,  and  in  confess 
ing  this  he  had  forgotten  the  dark  shadow  upon  his  life, 
and  it  was  the  dread  of  telling  it  to  her — the  pain  of 
saying  "  I  love  you,  but  you  cannot  be  my  wife,"  which 
affected  him  so  strangely.  But  she  knew  it  all,  and  she 
longed  to  assure  him  of  her  sympathy.  At  last  when 
he  seemed  to  be  more  calm,  she  stole  up  to  him,  and 
kneeling  at  his  side  bent  over  him  so  that  her  bright 
hair  mingled  with  his  own. 


MAKING  LOVE.  59 

"  Mr.  Browning,"  she  whispered  softly,  "  /  ~know 
your  secret,  and  I  do  not  love  you  less." 

"  You,  jRosamond,  you  know  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  gaz 
ing  fixedly  at  her.  "  It  cannot  be.  You  would  never 
do  as  you  have  done." 

"  But  I  do  know  it,"  she  continued,  taking  both  his 
hands  in  hers,  and  looking  him  steadily  in  the  eye,  by 
way  of  controlling  him,  should  he  be  seized  with  a 
sudden  attack,  "  I  know  exactly  what  it  is,  and  though 
it  will  prevent  me  from  being  your  wife,  it  will  not 
prevent  me  from  loving  you  just  the  same,  or  from 
living  with  you  either.  I  shall  stay  here  always — and 
— and — pardon  me,  Mr.  Browning,  but  when  you  get 
furious,  as  you  sometimes  do,  I  can  quiet  you  better 
than  any  one  else,  and  it  may  be,  the  world  will  never 
need  to  know  you  are  a  madman  !  " 

Mr.  Browning  looked  searchingly  into  her  innocent 
eyes,  and  then,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  laughed  aloud. 
He  understood  why  she  should  think  him  a  madman, 
and  though  he  repented  of  it  afterward,  he  hastened  to 
undeceive  her  now.  "  As  I  hope  to  see  another  day, 
it  is  not  that,"  he  said.  "  It  is  far  worse  than  insanity  ; 
and,  Eosamond,  though  it  breaks  my  heart  to  say  it, 
it  is  wicked  for  me  to  talk  of  love  to  you,  and  you  must 
not  remember  what  I  said.  You  must  crush  every 
tender  thought  of  me.  You  must  forget  me — nay,  more 
— you  must  hate  me.  Will  you,  Rosamond  ? " 

"  No — no — no,"  she  cried,  and  laying  her  face  in  his 
lap,  she  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears. 

"Leave  me,"  he  whispered,  "or  I  shall  go  mad,  for  I 
know  I  am  the  cause  of  this  distress." 

There  was  decision  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  and  it 
stilled  the  tumult  in  Rosamond's  bosom.  Rising  to  her 
feet,  she  said  calmly,  "  I  will  go,  but  I  cannot  forget 


60  ROSAMOND. 

that  you  deceived  me.  You  have  wrung  from  me  a 
confession  of  my  love,  only  to  throw  it  back  upon  me 
as  a  priceless  thing." 

Not  thus  would  he  part  with  her,  and  grasping  her 
arm,  he  began,  "  Heaven  knows  how  much  more  than 
my  very  life  I  love  you " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  through  the  air  a 
small,  dark  object  came,  and,  missing  its  aim,  dropped 
upon  the  hearth,  where  it  was  broken  in  a  hundred 
pieces.  It  was  a  vase  which  stood  upon  the  table  in 
the  hall,  and  Ben  Van  Vechten's  was  the  hand  that 
threw  it !  Impatient  at  the  delay,  he  had  come  up  in 
time  to  hear  his  uncle's  last  words,  which  aroused  his 
Southern  blood  at  once,  and  seizing  the  vase,  he  hurled 
it  at  the  offender's  head — then,  rushing  down  the  stairs, 
he  burst  upon  his  mother  with  "  Great  thunder  I 
mother ;  Uncle  Ralph  is  making  love  to  Rosamond 
himself,  and  she  likes  it  too.  I  saw  it  with  my  own 
eyes  !  I'll  hang  myself  in  the  barn,  or  go  to  the  Cri 
mean  war !  "  and  Ben  bounded  up  and  down  like  an 
India-rubber  ball.  Suddenly  remembering  that  an 
other  train  was  due  ere  long,  he  darted  out  of  the 
house,  followed  by  his  distracted  mother,  who,  divin 
ing  his  intention,  ran  swiftly  after  him,  imploring  him 
to  return.  Pausing  for  a  moment,  as  he  struck 
into  the  highway,  he  called  out,  "  Good-by,  mother. 
I've  only  one  choice  left — WAR!  Give  my  love 
to  Rosamond,  and  tell  her  I  shall  die  like  a  hero. 
You  needn't  wear  black,  if  you  don't  want  to. 
Good-by'.' 

He  turned  the  corner — he  had  started  for  the  war — 
and  mentally  resolving  to  follow  him  in  the  next  train, 
Mrs.  Van  Vechten  returned  to  the  house,  and  sought 
her  brother. 


MAKING  LOVE.  61 

"Ralph,"  she  began  sternly,  "have  you  talked  of 
love  to  Rosamond  ?  " 

Mr.  Browning  had  borne  so  much  that  nothing 
startled  him  now,  and  returning  her  glance  unflinch 
ingly,  he  replied,  "  I  have." 

"  How,  then — is  Marie  dead  ?  "  the  lady  asked. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge — but  hist,"  was  the  reply,  as 
Mr.  Browning  nodded  toward  the  hall,  where  a  rus 
tling  movement  was  heard. 

It  was  the  new  girL  coming  with  dust-pan  and  brush 
to  remove  the  fragments  of  the  vase,  though  how  she 
knew  they  were  there,  was  a  question  she  alone  could 
answer.  For  a  single  instant  her  dull,  gray  eye  shot  a 
gleam  of  intelligence  at  the  occupants  of  the  room,  and 
then  assuming  her  usual  appearance,  she  did  what  she 
came  to  do,  and  departed.  When  they  were  again 
alone,  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  demanded  an  explanation  of 
her  brother,  who  gave  it  unhesitatingly.  Cold-hearted 
as  she  always  seemed,  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten  had  some 
kind  feelings  left,  and,  touched  by  her  brother's  tale  of 
suffering,  she  gave  him  no  word  of  reproach,  and  even 
unbent  herself  to  say  that  a  brighter  day  might  come 
to  him  yet.  Then  she  spoke  of  Ben,  announcing  her 
determination  of  following  him  that  night.  To  this 
plan  Mr.  Browning  offered  no  remonstrance,  and  when 
the  night  express  left  the  Granby  station,  it  carried 
with  it  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten,  in  pursuit  of  the  runaway 
Ben. 


62  ROSAMOND. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NEWS. 

NEARLY  two  weeks  had  passed  away  since  the  excit 
ing  scene  in  Mr.  Browning's  library,  and  during  that 
time  Rosamond  had  kept  herself  aloof  from  her 
guardian,  meeting  him  only  at  the  table,  where  she 
maintained  toward  him  a  perfectly  respectful  but 
rather  freezing  manner.  She  was  deeply  mortified  to 
think  he  had  won  from  her  a  confession  of  her  love, 
and  then  told  her  how  useless — nay,  worse — how 
wicked  it  was  for  her  to  think  of  him.  She  knew  that 
he  suffered  intensely,  but  she  resolutely  left  him  to 
suffer  alone,  and  he  would  rather  it  should  be  so.  Life 
was  growing  more  and  more  a  wearisome  burden,  and 
when,  just  one  week  after  the  library  interview,  he  re 
ceived  a  note  in  the  well-remembered  handwriting,  he 
asked  that  he  might  die  and  forget  his  grief.  The 
letter  was  dated  at  the  Springs,  where  Miss  Porter  was 
still  staying,  though  she  said  she  intended  starting  the 
next  day  for  Guy ler,  a  little  out-of-the-way  place  on  the 
lake,  where  there  was  but  little  company,  and  she  could 
be  quiet  and  recruit  her  nervous  S3rstem.  The  latter 
had  been  terribly  shocked,  she  said,  by  hearing  of  his 
recent  attempt  at  making  love  to  Rosamond  Leyton  I 
"  Indeed,"  she  wrote,  "  it  is  to  this  very  love-making 
that  you  owe  this  letter  from  me,  as  I  deem  it  my  duty 
to  keep  continually  before  your  mind  the  fact  that  1 
am  still  alive." 


NEWS.  63 

"With  a  blanched  cheek  Mr.  Browning  read  this  letter 
through — then  tore  it  into  fragments,  wondering  much 
who  gave  her  the  information.  There  were  no  spies 
about  his  premises.  Rosamond  would  not  do  it,  and  it 
must  have  been  his  sister,  though  why  she  should  thus 
wish  to  annoy  him  he  did  not  know,  when  she,  more 
than  any  one  else,  had  been  instrumental  in  placing  him 
where  he  was.  Once  he  thought  of  telling  Rosamond 
all,  but  he  shrank  from  this,  for  she  would  leave  his 
house,  he  knew,  and,  though  she  might  never  again 
speak  kindly  to  him,  he  would  rather  feel  that  she  was 
there. 

And  so  another  dreary  week  went  by,  and  then  one 
morning  there  came  to  him  tidings  which  stopped  for 
an  instant  the  pulsations  of  his  heart,  and  sent  through 
his  frame  a  thrill  so  benumbing  and  intense  that  at 
first  pity  and  horror  were  the  only  emotions  of  which 
he  seemed  capable.  It  came  to  him  in  a  newspaper 
paragraph,  which  in  substance  was  as  follows  : 

"  A  sad  catastrophe  occurred  on  Thursday  afternoon 
at  Cuyler,  a  little  place  upon  the  lake,  which  of  late 
has  been  somewhat  frequented  during  the  summer 
months.  Three  ladies  and  one  gentleman  went  out  in 
a  small  pleasure-boat  which  is  kept  for  the  accommoda 
tion  of  the  guests.  They  had  not  been  gone  very  long 
when  a  sudden  thunder-gust  came  on,  accompanied  by 
a  violent  wind,  and  the  owner  of  the  skiff,  feeling  some 
alarm  for  the  safety  of  the  party,  went  down  to  the 
landing  just  in  time  to  see  the  boat  make  a  few  mad 
plunges  with  the  waves,  and  then  capsize  at  the  dis 
tance  of  nearly  half  a  mile  from  the  shore. 

"  Every  possible  effort  was  made  to  save  the  unfor 
tunate  pleasure-seekers,  but  in  vain  ;  they  disappeared 
from  view  long  before  a  boat  could  reach  them.  One 


64  ROSAMOND. 

of  the  bodies  has  not  yet  been  recovered.  It  is  that  of 
a  Miss  Porter,  from  Florida.  She  had  reached  Cuyler 
only  the  day  previous,  and  was  unaccompanied  by  a 
single  friend,  save  a  waiting-maid,  who  seems  over 
whelmed  with  grief  at  the  loss  of  her  mistress." 

This,  then,  was  the  announcement  which  so  affected 
Ralph  Browning,  blotting  out  for  a  moment  the 
wretched  past,  and  taking  him  back  to  the  long  ago 
when  he  first  knew  Marie  Porter  and  fancied  that  he 
loved  her.  She  was  dead  now — dead.  Many  a  time 
he  whispered  that  word  to  himself,  and  with  each  rep 
etition  the  wish  grew  strong  within  him — not  that 
she  were  living,  but  that  while  living  he  had  not  hated 
her  so  bitterly,  and  with  the  softened  feeling  which 
death  will  always  bring,  he  blamed  himself  far  more 
than  he  did  her.  There  had  been  wrong  on  both  sides, 
but  he  would  rather  now  that  she  had  been  reconciled 
to  him  ere  she  found  that  watery  grave.  Hand  in 
hand  with  these  reflections  came  another  thought ;  a 
bewildering,  intoxicating  thought.  He  was  free  at 
last— free  to  love — to  worship — to  marry  Rosamond. 

"  And  I  will  go  to  her  at  once,"  he  said,  after  the 
first  hour  had  been  given  to  the  dead  ;  "  I  will  tell  her 
all  the  truth." 

He  arose  to  leave  the  room,  but  something  stayed 
him  there,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  There  may  be 
some  mistake.  Cuyler  is  not  far  away.  Go  there 
first  and  investigate." 

For  him  to  will  was  to  do,  and  telling  Mrs.  Peters  he 
should  be  absent  from  home  for  a  time,  he  started  im 
mediately  for  Cuyler,  which  he  reached  near  the  close 
of  the  day.  Calm  and  beautiful  looked  the  waters  of 
the  lake  on  that  summer  afternoon,  and  if  within  their 
caverns  the  ill-fated  Marie  slept,  they  kept  over  her  an 


NEWS.  65 

unruffled  watch  and  told  no  tales  of  her  last  dying 
wail  to  the  careworn,  haggard  man  who  stood  upon  the 
sandy  beach,  where  they  said  that  she  embarked,  and 
listened  attentively  while  they  told  him  how  gay  she 
seemed  that  day,  and  how  jestingly  she  spoke  of  the 
dark  thunder-head  which  even  then  was  mounting  the 
western  horizon.  They  had  tried  in  vain  to  find  her, 
and  it  was  probable  she  had  sunk  into  one  of  the  un 
fathomable  holes  with  which  the  lake  was  said  by 
some  to  abound.  Sarah,  the  waiting-maid,  wept  pas 
sionately,  showing  that  the  deceased  must  have  had 
some  good  qualities,  or  she  could  not  thus  have  at 
tached  a  servant  to  her. 

Looking  upon  Mr.  Browning  as  a  friend  of  her  late 
mistress,  she  relied  on  him  for  counsel,  and  when  he 
advised  her  immediate  return  to  Florida,  she  readily 
consented,  and  started  on  the  same  day  that  he  turned 
his  face  toward  Kiverside.  They  had  said  to  him,  "  If 
we  find  her,  shall  we  send  her  to  your  place  ?  "  and  with 
an  involuntary  shudder  he  had  answered,  "  No — oh,  no. 
You  must  apprise  me  of  it  by  letter,  as  also  her  Florida 
friends — but  bury  her  quietly  here." 

They  promised  compliance  with  his  wishes,  and  feel 
ing  that  a  load  was  off  his  mind,  he  started  at  once  for 
home.  Certainty  now  was  doubly  sure.  Marie  was 
dead,  and  as  this  conviction  became  more  and  more 
fixed  upon  his  mind,  he  began  to  experience  a  dread  of 
telling  Rosamond  all.  Why  need  she  know  of  it,  when 
the  telling  it  would  throw  much  censure  on  himself. 
She  was  not  a  great  newspaper  reader — she  had  not 
seen  the  paragraph,  and  would  not  see  it.  He  could 
tell  her  that  the  obstacle  to  his  happiness  had  been  re 
moved — that  'twas  no  longer  a  sin  for  him  to  think  of 


66  ROSAMOND. 

her  or  seek  to  make  her  his  wife.     All  this  he  would 
say  to  her.  but  nothing  more. 

And  all  this  he  did  say  to  her  in  the  summer-house  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden,  where  he  found  her  just  as  the 
sun  was  setting.  And  Rosamond  listened  eagerly — 
never  questioning  him  of  the  past,  or  caring  to  hear  of 
it.  She  was  satisfied  to  know  that  she  might  love  him 
now,  and  with  his  arm  around  her,  she  sat  there  alone 
with  him  until  the  August  moon  was  high  up  in  the 
heavens.  He  called  her  his  "sunshine" — his  "light" 
— his  "  life,"  and  pushing  the  silken  curls  from  off  her 
childish  brow,  kissed  her  again  and  again,  telling  her 
she  should  be  his  wife  when  the  twentieth  day  of 
November  came.  That  was  his  twenty -ninth  birthday 
and  looking  into  her  girlish  face,  he  asked  her  if  he 
were  not  too  old.  He  knew  she  would  tell  him  no,  and 
she  did,  lovingly  caressing  his  grayish  hair. 

"  He  had  grown  young  since  he  sat  there,"  she  said, 
and  so,  indeed,  he  had,  and  the  rejuvenating  process 
continued  day  after  day,  until  the  villagers  laughingly 
said  that  his  approaching  marriage  had  put  him  back 
ten  years.  It  was  known  to  all  the  town's  folks  now, 
and  unlike  most  other  matches,  was  pronounced  a 
suitable  one.  Even  Mrs.  Yan  Yechten,  who  had  found 
Ben  at  Lovejoy's  Hotel,  and  still  remained  with  him  in 
New  York,  wrote  to  her  brother  a  kind  of  congratu 
latory  letter,  mingled  with  sickly  sentimental  regrets 
for  the  "  heart-broken,  deserted  and  now  departed 
Marie."  It  was  doubtful  whether  she  came  up  to  the 
wedding  or  not,  she  said,  as  Ben  had  positively  refused 
to  come,  or  to  leave  the  city  either,  and  kept  her  con 
stantly  on  the  watch  lest  he  should  elope  with  a  second- 
rate  actress  at  Laura  Keene's  theater. 

Rosamond  laughed  heartily  when  Mr.  Browning  told 


NEWS.  67 

her  of  this  sudden  change  in  Ben,  and  then  with  a  sigh 
as  she  thought  how  many  times  his  soft,  good- 
natured  heart  would  probably  be  wrung,  she  went 
back  to  the  preparations  for  her  bridal,  w^ich  were  on 
a  magnificent  scale.  They  were  going  to  Europe — they 
would  spend  the  winter  in  Paris,  and  as  Mr.  Browning 
had  several  influential  acquaintances  there,  they  would 
of  course  see  some  society,  and  he  resolved  that  his 
bride  should  be  inferior  to  none  in  point  of  dress,  as 
she  was  to  none  in  point  of  beauty.  Everything  which 
love  could  devise  or  money  procure  was  purchased  for 
her,  and  the  elegance  of  her  outfit  was  for  a  long  time 
the  only  theme  of  village  gossip. 

Among  the  members  of  the  household  none  seemed 
more  interested  in  the  preparations  than  the  girl  Maria, 
who  has  before  been  incidentally  mentioned.  Her  dull 
eyes  lighted  up  with  each  new  article  of  dress,  and  she 
suddenly  displayed  so  much  taste  in  everything  per 
taining  to  a  lady's  toilet,  that  Rosamond  was  delighted 
and  kept  her  constantly  with  her,  devising  this  new 
thing  and  that,  all  of  which  were  invariably  tried  on 
and  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  Mr.  Browning,  who 
was  sure  to  approve  whatever  his  Rosamond  wore. 
And  thus  gaily  sped  the  halcyon  hours,  bringing  at 
last  the  fading  leaf  and  the  wailing  October  winds; 
but  to  Rosamond,  basking  in  the  sunlight  of  love,  there 
came  no  warning  note  to  tell  her  of  the  dark  November 
days  which  were  hurrying  swiftly  on. 


68  ROSAMOND. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  GUEST  AT  KIVEESIDE. 

THE  November  days  had  come.  The  satin  dress  was 
made — the  bridal  veil  sent  home — the  wreath  of  orange, 
too  ;  and  then,  one  morning  when  the  summer,  it  would 
seem,  had  come  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  its  brief  reign, 
Mr.  Browning  kissed  his  bride  elect,  and  wiped  away 
the  two  big  tears  which  dropped  from  her  eyelashes 
when  he  told  her  that  he  was  going  away  for  that  day 
and  the  next. 

"  But  when  to-morrow's  sun  is  setting,  I  shall  be  with 
you  again,"  he  said,  and  he  bade  her  quiet  the  flutter 
ing  of  her  little  heart,  which  throbbed  so  painfully  at 
parting  with  him. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  she  said,  "  I'm  not  one  bit 
superstitious,  but  Bruno  howled  so  dismally  under  my 
window  all  night,  and  when  he  ceased,  a  horrid  owl 
set  up  a  screech.  I  told  Maria,  and  she  said,  in  her 
country  the  cry  of  an  owl  was  a  sign  that  the  grave 
was  about  to  give  up  its  dead,  and  she  looked  so 
mysterious  that  she  frightened  me  all  the  more " 

"  That  Maria  is  too  superstitious,  and  I  don't  like  her 
to  be  with  you  so  much,"  said  Mr.  Browning,  his  own 
cheek  turning  slightly  pale  as  he  thought  of  the  grave 
giving  up  his  dead.  Thrice  he  turned  back  to  kiss  the 
little  maiden,  who  followed  him  down  the  avenue,  and 
then  climbed  into  a  box-like  seat,  which  had  been  built 
on  the  top  of  the  gate-post,  and  was  sheltered  by  a 
sycamore.  "  Here,"  said  she,  "  shall  I  wait  for  you  to- 


THE  GUEST  AT  RIVERSIDE.  69 

morrow  night,  when  the  sun  is  away  over  there.     Oh, 
I  wish  it  would  hurry." 

He  wished  so,  too,  and  with  another  fond  good-by 
they  parted.  The  day  seemed  long  to  Rosamond,  and, 
though  she  varied  the  time  by  trying  on  each  and 
every  one  of  her  new  dresses,  she  was  glad  when  it 
was  night,  so  she  could  go  to  bed  and  sleep  the  time 
away.  The  next  morning  the  depression  of  spirits  was 
gone  ;  he  was  coming — she  should  wait  for  him  be 
neath  the  sycamore — possibly  she  would  hide  to  make 
him  believe  she  was  not  there,  and  the  bright  blushes 
stole  ever  her  dimpled  cheeks  as  she  thought  what  he 
would  do  when  he  found  that  she  was  there. 

"  Ten  o'clock,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  heard  the 
whistle  of  the  upward  train.  "  Seven  hours  more  and 
he  will  come." 

Going  to  her  room,  she  took  a  book,  in  which  she 
tried  to  be  interested,  succeeding  so  well  that,  though 
her  windows  commanded  a  view  of  the  avenue,  she  did 
not  see  the  lady  who  came  slowly  up  the  walk,  cast 
ing  about  her  eager,  curious  glances,  and  pausing  more 
than  once  to  note  the  exceeding  beauty  of  the  place. 
Once  she  stopped  for  a  long  time,  and,  leaning  against 
a  tree,  seemed  to  be  debating  whether  to  turn  back  or 
go  on.  Deciding  upon  the  latter,  she  arose,  and  quicken, 
ing  her  movements,  soon  stood  upon  the  threshold. 
Her  ring  was  answered  by  Maria,  who  betrayed  no 
surprise,  for  from  the  upper  hall  Mrs.  Peters  herself 
was  closely  inspecting  the  visitor. 

"  Is  Mr.  Browning  at  home  ?  "  the  lady  asked. 

"  Gone  to  Buffalo,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  and  a 
gleam  of  satisfaction  flitted  over  the  face  of  the  ques 
tioner,  who  continued :  "  And  the  young  lady,  Miss 
Leyton  ?  Has  she  gone,  too  2  " 


70  ROSAMOND. 

"  She  is  here,"  said  Maria,  still  keeping  her  eye 
upon  the  shadow  bending  over  the  balustrade. 
"  What  name  shall  I  give  her?  " 

"  No  name.  I  wish  to  surprise  her,"  and  passing  on 
into  the  parlor,  the  stranger  laid  aside  her  hat  and 
shawl  with  the  air  of  one  perfectly  at  home  ;  then  seat 
ing  herself  upon  a  sofa,  she  examined  the  room  as  curi 
ously  as  she  had  examined  the  grounds  of  Riverside. 

"  It  seems  a  pity  to  mar  all  this,"  she  said,  "  and 
were  it  not  that  I  hate  him  so  much,  I  would  go  away 
forever,  though  that  would  be  a  greater  injury  to  her 
than  my  coming  to  life  will  be.  Of  course  he's  told 
her  all,  and  spite  of  her  professed  liking  for  me,  she 
is  glad  that  I  am  dead.  I  long,  yet  dread,  to  see  her 
amazement ;  but  hist — she  comes." 

There  was  the  sound  of  little,  high-heeled  slippers  on 
the  stairs,  the  flutter  of  a  pink  morning  gown,  and  then 
Rosamond  Leyton  stood  face  with — Marie  Porter? 
The  grave  had  given  up  its  dead,  and  without  any  vis 
ible  marks  of  the  world  prepared  for  such  as  she,  save, 
indeed,  the  in  creased  fire  which  burned  in  her  black 
eyes,  the  risen  woman  sat  there  much  as  living  people 
sit — her  head  bent  forward — her  lips  apart — and  a  look 
of  expectation  upon  her  face.  But  she  was  doomed  to 
disappointment.  Rosamond  knew  nothing  of  the  past, 
and  with  a  cry  of  pleasurable  surprise  she  started  for 
ward,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  Miss  Porter,  I  felt  so  cross 
when  told  a  visitor  was  here,  but  now  I  know  who 
'tis,  I  am  so  glad,  for  I  am  very  lonely  to-day." 

The  hard  woman  swept  her  hand  a  moment  before 
her  eyes,  and  with  that  movement  swept  away  the 
kindly  spirit,  which  whispered,  "  Don't  undeceive  her. 
Don't  quench  the  light  of  that  bright  face,  nor  break 
that  girl's  heart." 


THE  GUEST  AT  RIVERSIDE.  71 

But  it  was  necessary  ;  Marie  Porter  knew  that,  and 
though  she  repented  of  what  she  had  done,  it  was  now 
too  late  to  retreat,  and  all  she  could  do  was  to  break 
the  heart  of  the  unsuspecting  girl  as  tenderly  as  pos 
sible. 

"  Why  are  you  so  lonely  ?  "  she  said,  "  This  is  a  most 
beautiful  spot.  I  believe  I'd  like  to  live  here  myself." 

"  Oh,  yes,  'tis  a  lovely  place,"  answered  Rosamond, 
"  but — but — Mr.  Browning  is  not  here,"  and  she  avert 
ed  her  crimson  face. 

"  Is  Mr.  Browning  so  necessary  to  your  happiness  ? '' 
Miss  Porter  asked,  and  bringing  an  ottoman,  Rosa 
mond  sat  down  at  her  visitor's  feet  and  thus  replied  : 
"  We  talked  so  much  of  him  at  the  Springs  that  it 
surely  is  not  foolish  in  me  to  tell  you  what  everybody 
knows.  Now,  you  won't  laugh  at  me,  will  you  ?  Mr. 
Browning  and  I  are  going  to — oh,  I  can't  tell  it ;  but, 
any  way,  your  fortune-telling  is  not  true." 

"  Mr.  Browning  and  you  are  going  to  be  married.  Is 
that  it  ?  "  the  woman  asked ;  and  with  a  quick,  upward 
glance  of  her  soft,  brown  eyes,  Rosamond  replied, 
"  Yes,  that's  it — that's  it ;  and  oh,  you  can't  begin  to 
guess  how  happy  I  am.  He  is  not  crazy  either.  It 
was  something  else,  though  I  don't  know  what,  for  he 
never  told  me,  and  I  do  not  care  to  know.  The  ob 
stacle  has  been  removed,  whatever  it  was,  and  it  has 
wrought  such  a  change  in  him.  He's  so  much  younger 
— handsomer,  now,  and  so  kind  to  me.  I'm  glad  you've 
come,  Miss  Porter,  and  you'll  stay  till  after  the  wed 
ding.  It's  the  twentieth,  and  he  has  bought  me  so 
many  new  things.  We  are  going  to  Europe.  Just 
think  of  a  winter  in  Paris,  with  Mr.  Browning !  But, 
what !  Are  you  crying  f  "  and  Rosamond  started  as  a 
burning  tear  fell  upon  her  forehead. 


72  ROSAMOND. 

"Rosamond  Ley  ton,"  said  Miss  Porter,  in  a  voice 
husky  with  emotion,  "  I  have  not  wept  in  eight  long 
years,  but  the  sight  of  you,  so  innocent,  so  happy, 
wrings  the  tears  from  my  stony  heart,  as  agony  will 
sometimes  force  out  the  drops  of  perspiration  when  the 
body  is  shivering  with  cold.  I  was  young  like  you 
once,  and  my  bridal  was  fixed — "  She  paused,  and 
stealing  an  arm  around  her  waist,  Rosamond  said 
pleadingly,  "  Tell  me  about  it,  Miss  Porter,  I  always 
knew  you  had  a  history.  Did  the  man  die  ?  " 

"  No — no.  Better  for  me  if  he  had — aye,  and  better, 
too,  for  you." 

This  last  was  a  whisper,  and  Rosamond  did  not  hear 
it.  Her  thoughts  were  bent  upon  the  story,  and  she 
continued,  "will  it  pain  you  too  much  to  tell  it 
now  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,  wait,"  Miss  Porter  said,  "  Wait  until  after 
dinner,  and  meantime,  as  I  cannot  possibly  stay  until 
the  twentieth,  perhaps  you  will  let  me  see  your 
dresses.'' 

Nothing  could  please  Rosamond  more,  and  gay  as  a 
little  child,  she  led  the  way  to  a  large  upper  room, 
which  contained  her  wedding  outfit.  Proudly  she  dis 
played  her  treasures,  flitting  like  a  bird  from  one  pile 
of  finery  to  another,  and  reserving  the  most  important 
until  the  very  last. 

"  There's  the  dinner-bell,"  she  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  I  did  not  think  it  could  be  one.  Only  four  hours 
more — but  come,  let  us  go  down  and  after  dinner,  if 
you'll  never  tell  Mrs.  Peters,  nor  anybody,  I'll  try  on 
my  bridal  dress  and  let  you  see  if  it  is  becoming.  I 
want  so  much  to  know  how  it  looks,  since  Maria  put 
the  rosebuds  in  the  berthe.  And  then  your  story.  I 
must  hear  that." 


THE  GUEST  AT  RIVERSIDE.  73 

As  they  were  going  down  the  stairs  Miss  Porter 
took  Rosamond's  hand  and  said,  "How  is  this?-— 
"Where  is  my  ring  ? " 

Rosamond  could  not  tell  her  of  an  act  which  now 
that  it  no  longer  had  insanity  for  an  excuse,  puzzled 
her  not  a  little.  So  she  made  some  trivial  excuse, 
which,  however,  did  not  deceive  her  auditor.  But  the 
latter  deemed  it  wise  to  say  no  more  just  then,  and 
silently  followed  her  young  friend  into  the  dining- 
room.  Dinner  being  over  they  went  up  to  Rosamond's 
chamber,  the  closet  of  which  contained  the  bridal 
robes. 

"  Two  o*  clock"  said  Rosamond,  consulting  her 
watch,  then  bringing  out  the  rich  white  satin  and  ex 
quisite  overskirt  of  lace,  she  continued,  "  I  shall  have 
just  time  to  try  this  on,  hear  your  story  and  get 
dressed  before  Mr.  Browning  comes.  How  short  the 
day  seems,  with  you  here !  I  told  him  I'd  be  sitting 
in  that  little  box  which  you  possibly  noticed,  built  on 
the  gate-post  against  the  tree. — And  he'll  be  so  disap 
pointed  not  to  find  me  there,  that  maybe  you  won't 
mind  my  leaving  you  awhile  when  the  sun  is  right 
over  the  woods." 

"Certainly  not,"  answered  Miss  Porter,  and  the 
dressing-up  process  began,  Rosamond  chatting  gayly 
all  the  while  and  asking  if  it  were  very  foolish  for  her 
to  try  on  the  dress.  "  I  should  not  do  it,"  she  said, 
"  if  you  would  stay.  Can't  you  ? " 

The  answer  was  a  decided  negative,  and  adjusting 
her  little  slipper,  Rosamond  stood  up  while  her  com 
panion  put  over  her  head  the  satin  dress.  It  fitted  ad 
mirably,  and  nothing  could  have  been  fairer  than  the 
round  chubby  arms  and  plump,  well-shaped  shoulders 
which  the  shortcomings  of  the  dress  showed  to  good 


74  ROSAMOND. 

advantage.  Now  the  lace  over-skirt — now  the  berthe 
— and  then  the  veil,  with  the  orange-wreath  twined 
among  the  flowing  curls,  and  Rosamond  was  dressed  at 
last. 

"  How  do  I  look  ? "  she  asked,  but  Marie  Porter 
made  no  immediate  reply,  and  as  she  gazed  upon  the 
young  girl,  so  beautiful,  so  innocent  and  unsuspecting, 
who  can  tell  of  the  keen  anguish  at  her  heart,  or  how 
she  shrank  from  the  bitter  task  which  she  must  do, 
and  quickly,  too,  for  the  clock  pointed  to  three,  and  her 
plan  was  now  to  strike  the  dove  and  then  flee  ere  the 
eagle  came.  She  would  thus  wound  him  more  deeply, 
for  the  very  uncertainty  would  add  fresh  poison  to 
his  cup  of  agony. 

"  How  do  I  look  ? "  Rosamond  asked  again,  and  after 
duly  complimenting  the  dress,  Miss  Porter  added,  "  I 
promised  you  my  story,  and  if  I  tell  it  at  all  to-day,  I 
must  begin  it  now,  for  it  is  long,  and  I  would  finish  it 
ere  Mr.  Browning  comes." 

"  Yery  well,  I'm  all  attention,"  said  Rosamond,  and 
like  a  lamb  before  its  slaughterer  she  knelt  before  the 
woman,  bending  low  her  graceful  head  to  have  the 
wreath  removed. 

This  done,  Miss  Porter  said,  "  Have  you  any  cam 
phor  handy,  or  hartshorn  ?  I  am  sometimes  faint  and 
may  want  them." 

"  Yes,  both,  here,  in  the  bathing-room,"  said  Rosa 
mond,  and  she  brought  them  to  the  lady,  who  placed 
them  upon  the  table — not  for  herself,  but  for  one 
who  would  need  them  more — for  poor,  poor  Rosamond. 
The  disrobing  proceeded  slowly,  for  the  little  girl  was 
well  pleased  with  the  figure  reflected  by  the  mirror. 
But  Miss  Porter  could  not  wait,  and  when  the  wreath, 
the  veil,  and  berthe  were  removed,  she  seated  herself 


THE  GUEST  AT  RIVERSIDE.  75 

by  the  window  in  a  position  which  commanded  a  full 
view  of  her  victim's  face  ;  and  forcing  down  the  throb- 
bings  of  her  heart,  which  it  seemed  to  her  were  audible 
in  that  silent  room,  she  commenced  the  storv. 


76  ROSAMOND. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  STORY. 

"My  home,"  began  Miss  Porter,  "is,  as  you  know, 
in  Florida.  I  am  an  only  child,  as  were  both  my  par- 
ents,  so  that  I  have  now  living  no  nearer  relative  than 
a  great  uncle — a  superannuated  clergyman,  who  super 
intends  my  affairs,  and  who,  in  case  I  die  before  he 
does,  which  is  very  probable,  will  be  heir  to  my  pos 
sessions. 

"  It  is  now  nearly  ten  years  since  my  father  started 
for  Europe,  and  I  went  to  an  adjoining  state  to  visit  a 
widow  Jady,  whom  I  had  met  in  New  Orleans  the 
winter  previous.  It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  use 
real  names,  consequently  I  will  call  her  Mrs.  Le  Vert. 
She  was  spending  the  summer  on  her  plantation,  at 
what  she  called  her  country-seat.  It  was  a  large,  old- 
fashioned,  wooden  building,  many  miles  from  any 
neighbors,  and  here  she  lived  alone — for  her  only  son, 
a  lad  twelve  years  of  age,  was  at  some  northern  school. 
At  first  I  was  very  lonely,  for  the  secluded  life  we  led 
at  Holly  Grove  was  hardly  in  accordance  with  the 
taste  of  a  young  girl.  Still,  I  did  not  mind  it  as  much 
as  some,  for  I  cared  but  little  for  gentlemen's  society, 
and  had  frequently  declared  that  I  should  never  marry. 

"  Toward  the  last  of  July,  Mrs.  Le  Yert's  brother 
came  to  visit  her.  He  was  a  handsome,  boyish-look 
ing  youth,  six  months  older  than  myself — just  out  of 
college — full  of  life  and  very  fond  of  pretty  girls,  par- 
ticularly,  if  they  chanced  to  be  wealthy." 


THE  STORY.  77 

"  That's  a  little  like  Ben,"  said  Rosamond,  and  Miss 
Porter  continued : 

"  From  the  first,  Mrs.  Le  Yert  seemed  determined  to 
make  a  match  between  us,  for  her  brother  was  poor, 
and  she  fancied  it  would  be  a  fine  idea  to  have  the 
Porter  estate  come  into  the  Dunlap  family.  So  she 
threw  us  constantly  together — talked  of  me  to  him  and 
of  him  to  me,  until  I  really  began  to  believe  I  liked 
him.  He,  on  the  contrary,  cared  for  nothing  but  my 
money.  Still  he  deemed  it  advisable  to  assume  a  show 
of  affection,  and  one  night  talked  to  me  of  love  quite 
eloquently.  I  had  been  to  a  dinner  party  that  day,  and 
had  worn  all  my  diamonds.  He  had  never  seen  them 
before,  and  they  must  have  inflamed  his  avarice,  for  I 
afterward  heard  him  tell  his  sister  that  he  never  should 
have  proposed  if  I  had  not  looked  so  beautiful  that 
night.  '  I  was  irresistible  in  my  diamonds?  he  said." 

Miss  Porter  paused  a  moment  to  witness  the  effect  of 
her  last  words,  but  Rosamond  was  looking  over  her 
shoulder  at  a  wrinkle  she  had  just  discovered  in  the 
waist,  and  did  not  heed  them.  Still  she  was  listening, 
and  she  said,  "  Yes — go  on.  You  were  looking  beauti 
fully  that  night.  Did  you  consent  to  marry  him  ? " 

"  Unhappily,  I  did,"  returned  Miss  Porter,  "  for  I 
had  made  myself  believe  that  I  loved  him.  I  wished 
that  he  was  older,  to  be  sure,  but  he  said  we  would 
wait  until  he  was  of  age.  This  plan,  however,  did  not 
suit  his  ambitious  sister.  She  knew  I  intended  asking 
my  father's  approval,  and  from  what  she  heard  of  him 
she  feared  he  would  never  consent  to  my  marrying  a 
poor  student,  and  she  urged  an  immediate  union. 
But  I  persisted  in  writing  to  my  father,  who  answered 
immediately,  forbidding  me  to  think  of  }7oung  Dunlap, 
ordering  me  to  go  home,  and  saying  he  always  intended 


78  ROSAMOND. 

me  for  John  Castlewell,  a  neighbor  of  ours — a  million 
aire — a  booby — &fool — whom  I  hated  as  I  did  poison. 

"  Not  long  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter  I  was  sur 
prised  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Uncle  Bertram, 
who  had  come  at  my  father's  request  to  take  me  home. 
This  roused  me  at  once.  My  father  was  a  tyrant,  I 
said,  and  I  would  let  him  know  I  could  do  as  I  pleased. 
In  my  excitement,  I  fancied  I  could  not  exist  a  moment 
without  Richard  Dunlap,  while  he  declared  that  life 
would  be  a  blank  for  him  if  passed  away  from  me.  At 
this  opportune  moment  Mrs.  Le  Vert  suggested  that  we 
be  married  immediately — that  very  night.  Uncle  Ber 
tram  fortunately  was  a  clergyman,  and  could  officiate 
as  well  as  any  other.  In  justice  to  Richard,  I  will  say 
that  he  hesitated  longer  than  I  did — but  he  was  per 
suaded  at  last,  as  was  Uncle  Bertram,  and  with  no 
other  witness  than  Mrs.  Le  Vert  and  a  white  woman 
who  lived  with  her  as  half  waiting-maid  and  half  com 
panion,  we  were  married." 

Rosamond  was  interested  now,  and  forgetting  to 
remove  her  dress,  she  threw  a  crimson  shawl  around 
her  shoulders,  and  sitting  down  upon  the  bed,  exclaimed, 
"  Married  !  You  married  !  Why,  then,  are  you  called 
Porter  ?  " 

"  Listen  and  you  shall  know,"  returned  the  lady,  a 
dark  look  settling  down  upon  her  face. 

"  Scarcely  was  the  ceremony  over,  when  I  began  to 
regret  it — not  because  I  disliked  Richard,  but  because 
I  dreaded  my  father's  displeasure,  for  he  had  a  most 
savage,  revengeful  temper,  and  his  daughter  possesses 
the  same."  This  was  bitterly  spoken,  and  she  con 
tinued — "  Hardly  an  hour  after  we  were  married,  a 
negro  brought  a  letter  to  Richard  from  an  eccentric 
old  man  for  whom  he  had  been  named.  In  it  the  old 


THE  STORY.  79 

man  said  he  had  made  his  namesake  his  heir,  provided 
he  did  not  marry  until  he  was  twenty-five. 

"  '  I  know  just  how  frillickin?  you  are,'  he  wrote, 
'  and  I  know,  too,  how  unsuitable  and  how  unhappy 
most  early  marriages  are — so  my  boy,  if  you  want 
Sunnyside,  wait  till  you  are  twenty-five  before  you  take 
an  extra  rib.  I  hate  to  be  bothered  with  letters,  and 
if  you  don't  answer  this,  I  shall  conclude  that  you 
accept  my  terms.' 

"  Mrs.  Le  Yert  at  once  suggested  that,  as  the  old 
gentleman  had  already  had  two  fits  of  apoplexy,  and 
would  undoubtedly  soon  have  the  third,  our  marriage 
should  for  a  time  be  kept  a  secret." 

"  But  he  didn't  consent,"  cried  Rosamond. 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  answered  Miss  Porter,  "  and  though 
I,  too,  said  it  would  be  best,  I  began  to  distrust  him 
from  that  moment — to  think  that  he  preferred  money 
to  myself.  Uncle  Bertram  promised  secrecy  and  went 
back  alone,  and  then  commenced  a  life  of  wretchedness, 
which  makes  me  shudder  even  to  recall  it.  With  the 
exception  of  my  own  servant,  who  dared  not  tell  if  I 
bade  her  be  silent,  the  blacks  knew  nothing  of  our 
marriage,  and  though  we  lived  together  as  man  and 
wife,  so  skilfully  did  Mrs.  Le  Yert  and  Esther,  her 
white  domestic,  manage  the  matter,  that  for  a  time 
our  secret  was  safely  kept.  A  few  of  the  negroes 
discovered  it  ere  I  left ;  but  as  they  always  lived  in 
that  out-of-the-way  place,  it  never  followed  me,  and  to 
this  day  no  human  being  in  Florida,  save  Uncle  Ber 
tram,  knows  of  the  marriage. 

"  I  am  very  impulsive,  and  the  excitement  being 
over,  my  affection  began  to  cool.  Richard  could  have 
kept  it  alive  had  lie  tried,  but  he  did  not.  On  the  con 
trary  he  was  much  alone,  and  when  with  me  was 


80  ROSAMOND. 

always    tormenting  me   with   conscientious    scruples 
about  deceiving  '  the  old  man.'  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  him  for  that,"  cried  Eosamond,  "  I  like 
him  for  that.  Why  didn't  you  let  him  tell  ?  " 

"  Because,"  returned  Miss  Porter,  "  I  had  fears  that 
father  would  disinherit  me,  and  if  Richard  lost  Sunny, 
side,  we  should  be  poor  indeed." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Rosamond's  face,  and  she  said 
involuntarily,  "  I  could  be  happy  with  Mr.  Browning 
if  we  were  poor." 

Marie  started  and  answered  quickly,  "What  has 
Mr.  Browning  to  do  with  my  story  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  returned  Rosamond,  "  only  I 
was  thinking  that  if  you  loved  Richard  as  well  as  I  do 
Mr.  Browning,  you  would  not  have  cared  for  money." 

"  But  I  didn't,"  returned  Marie.  "  I  was  mistaken. 
'Twas  a  mere  childish  fancy.  I  never  loved  him.  / 
hate  him  now" 

She  spoke  vehemently,  and  when  Rosamond  said 
mournfully.  "  Hate  your  husband ! "  she  replied, 
"  Yes,  more  than  hate,  or  I  had  never  come  to  tell  you 
this ;  but  listen — from  indifference  we  came  to  coldness 
— from  coldness  to  recrimination — from  that  to  harsh 
words — from  harsh  words  to  quarrels — and  from  quar 
rels  to  blows  !  " 

She  uttered  the  last  word  slowly,  while  Rosamond 
exclaimed,  "  Not  Hows,  Miss  Porter !  No  man  would 
strike  a  woman.  /  almost  hate  him,  no\v." 

The  proud  lip  curled  scornfully — a  gleam  of  satisfac 
tion  shot  from  the  keen  black  eyes,  and  Marie  went  on. 
"  He  would  say — nay  does  say  1  was  the  most  to  blame 
— that  I  aggravated  him  beyond  human  endurance — 
but  he  provoked  me  to  it.  Think  of  his  swearing  at 
me,  Rosamond — calling  me  a  she-devil  and  all  that. 


THE  STORY.  81 

Think,  too,  of  his  telling  me  to  my  face  that  he  was 
driven  into  the  marriage  wholly  by  his  sister — that  he 
regretted  it  more  than  I,  and  to  crown  all,  think  of  his 
boxing  my  ears! — he,  a  poor,  insignificant  Northern 
puppy )  boxing  me — a  Porter,  and  a  Southern  heiress  !  " 

She  was  terribly  excited,  and  Rosamond,  gazing  at 
her  face,  distorted  with  malignant  passion,  began  to 
fancy  that  the  greater  wrong  might  perhaps  have  lain 
with  her. 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Marie  began  again. 
"  When  we  had  been  three  months  man  and  wife,  he 
wrote  to  the  old  man,  confessing  his  marriage,  and  say 
ing  sundry  things  not  wholly  complimentary  to  his 
bride ;  but  I  intercepted  it,  read  it,  tore  it  up,  and 
taunted  him  with  it.  I  believe  I  called  him  a  low 
lived  Yankee,  or  something  like  that,  and  then  it 
was  he  struck  me.  The  blow  sunk  deep  into  my  soul. 
It  was  an  insult,  an  unpardonable  insult,  and  could  not 
"be  forgiven.  My  Southern  blood  was  all  on  fire,  and 
had  I  been  a  man,  he  should  have  paid  for  that  blow. 
I  feel  it  yet ;  the  smart  has  never  for  a  moment  left 
me,  but  burns  upon  my  face  just  as  hatred  for  him  burns 
upon  my  heart !  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Porter,"  cried  Rosamond,  as  the  former 
ground  her  teeth  together,  "don't  look  so  terribly. 
You  frighten  me.  He  struck  you,  but  he  asked  your 
pardon,  sure  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  pretended  to,  but  I  spat  at  him  and  bade 
him  leave  me  forever.  His  sister  tried  to  interfere, 
but  she  made  the  matter  worse,  and  as  my  father  was 
on  the  eve  of  embarking  for  America,  I  determined  to 
go  home,  and  when  he  came,  tell  him  the  whole  and 
ask  him  to  seek  satisfaction  from  one  who  had  dared 
to  strike  his  daughter.  Richard  made  a  show  of  try- 


82  ROSAMOND. 

ing  to  keep  me — said  we  had  better  live  together,  and 
all  that,  while  his  sister  called  us  two  silly  children 
Avho  needed  whipping.  But  I  did  not  heed  it.  I  went 
home  to  Uncle  Bertram  and  waited  for  my  father, 
who  never  came.  He  died  upon  the  sea,  and  I  was  heir 
of  all  his  vast  possessions.  Then  Richard  made  over 
tures  for  reconciliation,  but  I  spurned  them  all.  You've 
heard  of  woman-haters,  Rosamond — I  am  a  man-hater. 
I  loathe  the  whole  sex,  Uncle  Bertram  excepted. 
My  marriage  was  of  course  a  secret  in  Florida.  My  serv 
ant,  who  knew  of  it,  died  soon  after  my  father,  and 
as  Uncle  Bertram  kept  his  own  counsel,  more  than  one 
sought  my  hand,  but  I  turned  my  back  upon  them 
all. 

"  Four  or  five  years  ago  he  wrote  me  a  letter.  He 
was  then  master  of  Sunnyside,  for  the  old  man  left  it 
to  him  after  all.  He  was  lonely  there,  he  said,  and  he 
asked  a  reconciliation.  Had  he  never  struck  me,  I 
might  have  gone,  for  his  letter  was  kindly  enough,  but 
the  blow  was  a  barrier  between  us,  so  I  refused  to 
listen,  and  exulted  over  the  thought  of  his  living 
there  alone  all  his  days  with  the  secret  on  his  mind. 

"  The  sweetest  morsel  of  all  in  the  cup  of  revenge 
was,  however,  for  a  time  withheld,  but  it  came  at  last, 
Rosamond.  It  came  at  last.  He  loved  a  beautiful 
young  girl,  loved  her  all  the  more  that  he  could  not 
marry  her." 

She  drew  nearer  to  Rosamond,  who,  though  still 
unsuspecting,  trembled  from  head  to  foot  with  an  un- 
definable  emotion  of  coming  evil. 

"  I  saw  her,  Rosamond  ;  saw  this  young  girl  with  his 
name  upon  her  lips  when  waking — saw  her,  too,  with 
his  name  upon  her  lips  when  sleeping,  and  all  this 
while  she  did  not  dream  that  I,  the  so-called  Marie 


THE  STORY.  83 

Porter,  was  his  wife,  the  barrier  which  kept  him  from 
saying  the  words  her  little  heart  longed  so  to  hear." 

There  were  livid  spots  on  Rosamond's  neck — -livid 
spots  upon  her  face,  and  still  she  did  not  move  from 
her  seat,  though  her  clammy  hand  clutched  nervously 
her  bridal  dress.  A  horrid  suspicion  had  flashed  upon 
her,  but  with  a  mighty  effort  she  threw  it  off  as  injustice 
to  Mr.  Browning,  and  mentally  crying,  "  It  cannot  be," 
she  faintly  whispered,  "  Go  on." 

"  The  summer  I  met  her,"  said  Miss  Porter,  I  was  at 
Cartersville,  a  little  out-of-the-way  place  on  a  lake " 

"  You're  telling  me  true  ?  "  interrupted  Rosamond, 
joy  thrilling  in  her  tones. 

"  Yes,  true,"  returned  Miss  Porter. 

"  Then  bless  you — bless  you  for  those  last  words," 
rejoined  Rosamond,  burying  her  face  in  her  compan 
ion's  lap.  "  A  terrible  fear  for  a  moment  came  over 
me,  that  it  might  be  I.  But  it  isn't,  /met  you  at 
the  Springs.  Oh,  if  it  had  been  me.  I  should  most 
surely  die." 

"  But  she  did  not — the  young  girl,"  resumed  Miss 
Porter.  "  She  had  a  brave,  strong  heart,  and  she  bore 
up  wonclrously.  She  felt  that  he  had  cruelly  deceived 
her,  and  that  helped  her  to  bear  the  blow.  Besides, 
she  was  glad  she  knew  of  it  in  time,  for,  had  he  mar 
ried  her,  she  would  not  have  been  his  wife,  you  know." 
Rosamond  shuddered  and  replied,  "  I  know,  but  my 
heart  would  have  broken  all  the  same.  It  aches  so 
now  for  her.  But  go  on,  how  did  she  find  it  out  ? 
Who  could  have  strength  to  tell  her  ? " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  each  could  hear  the  beating 
of  the  other's  heart.  The  November  wind  had  risen 
within  the  last  half  hour,  and  now  howled  dismally  past 
the  window,  seeming  to  Rosamond  like  the  wail  that 


84  ROSAMOND. 

young  girl  must  have  uttered  when  she  first  learned 
ho\v  her  trust  had  been  betrayed.  The  clock  struck 
four !  Kosamond  counted  each  stroke,  and  thought, 
"  One  hour  more,  and  he  will  be  here."  Marie  counted 
each  stroke,  and  thought,  "  One  hour  more,  and  I 
must  be  gone." 

"  Kosamond,"  she  began  again,  "  what  I  now  have 
to  confess  is  an  act  of  which  I  have  repented  bitterly, 
and  never  more  than  since  I  sat  within  this  room. 
But  it  was  not  premeditated,  and  believe  me,  Kosamond, 
it  was  not  done  for  any  malice  I  bore  to  that  young 
girl,  for  I  pitied  her  so  much — oh,  so  much,"  and  her 
hand  wandered  caressingly  over  the  bright  hair  lying 
on  her  lap. 

"  We  went  out  one  afternoon — two  ladies,  a  gentle 
man,  and  myself — in  a  small  sail-boat  upon  the  lake. 
I  planned  the  excursion  and  thought  I  should  enjoy  it, 
but  we  had  not  been  out  long  when  my  old  affection 
of  the  heart  began  to  trouble  me.  I  grew  faint,  and 
begged  of  them  to  put  me  on  the  land.  They  complied 
with  my  request,  and  set  me  down  upon  a  point  higher 
up  than  that  from  which  we  had  embarked,  and  near 
to  a  dilapidated  cabin  where  lived  a  weird  old  hag, 
who  earned  a  scanty  livelihood  by  fortune-telling.  I 
told  her  I  was  sick,  and  sat  down  by  her  door  where 
I  could  watch  the  movements  of  the  party.  Suddenly  a 
terrific  thunder-storm  arose,  the  wind  blew  a  hurri 
cane,  and  though  the  boat  rode  the  billows  bravely  for  a 
time,  it  capsized  at  length,  and  its  precious  freight  dis 
appeared  beneath  the  foaming  waves.  For  a  moment 
horror  chilled  my  blood ;  then,  swift  as  the  lightning 
which  leaped  from  the  cloud  overhanging  the  graves 
of  my  late  companions,  a  maddening  thought  flashed 
upon  my  mind." 


THE  STORY.  85 

"  But  the  girl — hasten  to  that  part,"  said  Rosamond, 
lifting  up  her  head,  while  Miss  Porter  went  back  to  her 
chair. 

"  I  shall  come  to  her  soon  enough,"  returned  Miss 
Porter,  continuing  her  story.  "  No  living  being,  save 
the  old  woman  at  my  side,  knew  of  my  escape,  and  I 
could  bribe  her  easily.  Fortunately  I  carried  the  most 
of  my  money  about  my  person,  and  I  said  to  her, 
*  There  are  reasons  why,  for  a  time  at  least,  I  wish  to 
be  considered  dead.  Here  are  twenty  dollars  now,  and 
the  same  shall  be  paid  you  every  month  that  you  are 
silent.  No  human  creature  must  know  that  I  am 
living.'  I  saw  by  the  kindling  of  her  eye  at  the  sight 
of  the  gold  that  I  was  safe,  and  when  the  night  shadows 
were  falling  I  stole  from,  her  cabin,  and  taking  a  cir 
cuitous  route  to  avoid  observation,  I  reached  the  midway 
station  in  time  for  the  evening  train. 

"  Three  days  later  in  a  distant  city  I  read  of  the  sad 
catastrophe — read  that  all  had  been  found  but  one,  a 
Miss  Porter,  from  Florida,  and  as  I  read  I  thought  '  he 
will  see  that,  too.'  He  did  see  it.  Before  going  to 
Carterville  I  sent  to  Sunnyside  a  girl  who  was  under 
peculiar  obligations  to  me,  and  one  whom  I  could  trust. 
She  secured  the  place.  She  was  employed  at  last  about 
the  person  of  that  young  girl,  who  had  lived  at  Sunny- 
side  since  she  was  a  child  a  friendless  orphan" 

There  was  a  quick,  gasping  moan  as  if  the  soul  were 
parting  from  the  body,  and  Rosamond  fell  upon  her 
face  which  the  pillows  concealed  from  view,  while  Miss 
Porter  hurriedly  proceeded : 

"  There  is  but  little  more  to  tell.  I  wrote  to  the  girl 
who  took  her  own  letters  from  the  office.  I  told  her 
all,  and  from  her  heard  that  the  bridal  day  was  fixed. 


86  ROSAMOND. 

The  obstacle  was  removed — not  insanity,  but  a  living 
wife.  Need  I  say  more  ? " 

She  paused,  but  from  the  bed  where  the  crushed, 
motionless  figure  lay,  there  came  no  sound,  and  she 
said  again,  "  Speak,  Rosamond.  Curse  me,  if  you  will, 
for  saving  you  from  an  unlawful  marriage." 

Still  there  was  no  sound,  save  the  low  sighing  of  the 
wind,  which  seemed  to  have  taken  a  fresh  note  of 
sadness  as  if  bewailing  the  unutterable  desolation  of 
the  young  girl,  who  lay  so  still  and  lifeless  that  Marie 
Porter's  heart  quickened  with  fear,  and  drawing  near, 
she  touched  the  little  hand  resting  on  the  pillow.  It 
was  cold — rigid — as  was  also  the  face  which  she  turned 
to  the  light. 

"  It  is  death ! "  she  cried,  and  a  wild  shriek  rang 
through  the  house,  bringing  at  once  the  servants, 
headed  by  Mrs.  Peters. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  the  latter,  as  she  saw  the  help, 
less  figure  and  beautiful  upturned  face. 

"  Iff s  death,  madam — death,  and  it's  coming  on  me, 
too,"  answered  Miss  Porter,  clasping  her  hands  over 
her  heart,  which  throbbed  as  it  never  had  done  before, 
and  which  at  last  prostrated  her  upon  the  lounge. 

But  no  one  heeded  her,  save  the  girl  Maria.  The 
rest  gave  their  attention  to  Rosamond,  who  lay  so  long 
in  the  death-like  stupor  that  others  than  Miss  Porter 
believed  her  dead. 

The  clock  struck  jive  !  and  echoing  from  the  Granby 
hills  the  engine-whistle  came.  Then  a  slight  tremor 
ran  through  her  frame,  and  Mrs.  Peters  whispered 
joyfully,  "  There's  life — there's  hope." 

Along  the  highway  the  returning  traveler  came  with 
rapid  tread,  but  'neath  the  sycamore  no  Rosamond  was 
waiting. 


THE  STORY.  87 

"  She  is  biding  from  me,"  he  said,  but  his  search  for 
her  was  vain,  and  he  rapidly  hastened  on. 

All  about  the  house  was  still.  There  was  no  Rosa 
mond  at  the  door — nor  in  the  hall — nor  in  the  parlor 
— nor  on  the  stairs ;  but  from  her  chamber  came  the 
buzz  of  voices,  and  he  entered  unannounced,  recoiling 
backward  when  he  saw  the  face  upon  the  pillow,  and 
knew  that  it  was  Rosamond's.  Every  particle  of  color 
had  left  it ;  there  were  dark  circles  beneath  the  eyes, 
and  a  look  about  the  mouth  as  if  the  concentrated 
agony  of  years  had  fallen  suddenly  upon  her. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  asked,  and  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  the  brown  eyes  he  had  been  wont  to  call  so 
beautiful  unclosed,  but  their  sunny  brightness  was  all 
gone,  and  he  shuddered  at  their  dim,  meaningless  ex 
pression. 

She  seemed  to  know  him,  and  stretching  her  arm 
toward  him  as  a  child  does  toward  its  mother  when 
danger  threatens,  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  bosom 
with  a  piteous  wail — the  only  really  audible  sound  she 
had  yet  uttered. 

"  Rosamond,  darling — what  has  come  upon  you  ?  " 
he  said,  "  and  why  are  you  in  your  bridal  dress  ?  " 

At  that  word  she  started,  and  moving  away  from 
him,  moaned  sadly,  "  It  was  cruel — oh,  so  cruel  to  de 
ceive  me,  when  I  loved  and  trusted  him  so  much." 

"  Won't  somebody  tell  me  what  this  means  ? "  he 
demanded,  and  Mrs.  Peters  replied,  "  We  do  not  know. 
There's  been  a  strange  woman  here,  and  she  was  with 
Rosamond  when  it  happened." 

"  Woman  ?  What  woman  ?  And  where  is  she 
now  ? "  he  asked,  and  Mrs.  Peters  replied,  "  She  was 
faint — dying,  she  said,  and  Maria  took  her  into  another 
chamber."" 


88  ROSAMOND. 

Mechanically  he  started  for  that  chamber — hearing 
nothing — seeing  nothing  —  thinking  nothing  for  the 
nameless  terror  which  had  fallen  upon  him.  He  did 
not  suspect  the  real  truth.  He  merely  had  a  vague 
presentiment  that  some  one  who  knew,  nothing  of  the 
drowning  had  come  there  to  save  his  Rosamond  from 
what  they  supposed  to  be  an  unlawful  marriage,  and 
when  at  last  he  stood  face  to  face  with  his  living  wife, 
when  he  knew  the  grave  had  given  up  its  dead,  he 
dropped  to  the  floor  as  drops  the  giant  oak  when  felled 
by  the  lightning's  power  ! 

Marie  Porter,  even  had  she  been  cruelly  wronged, 
was  avenged — fully,  amply  avenged,  and  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  she  moaned,  "  I  have  killed  them 
both,  and  there's  nothing  left  for  me  now  but  to  die !  " 


THE  END.  89 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  END. 

OVER  the  horrid  awakening  which  came  to  the 
wretched  man,  we  need  not  linger  ;  neither  is  it  neces 
sary  to  dwell  upon  the  first  few  days  of  mystery  and 
dread,  when  death  seemed  brooding  over  Riverside, 
and  rumor  was  busy  with  surmises  and  suspicions  con 
cerning  the  stranger,  and  the  relation,  if  any,  which 
she  bore  to  Rosamond  Ley  ton.  We  will  rather  hasten, 
on  to  the  morning  when  to  Mr.  Browning  the  joyful 
tidings  came  that  Rosamond  was  better — so  much 
better,  indeed,  that  he  could  see  and  talk  with  her  if 
he  chose. 

Only  once  since  the  fearful  night  when  he  found  her 
moaning  in  her  bridal  dress,  had  he  stood  by  her  bed 
side — for  though  he  longed  to  be  there,  he  could  not 
endure  to  see  her  turn  away  from  him,  whispering  as 
she  did  so,  "  It  was  cruel — oh,  so  cruel  to  deceive  me 
so."  Neither  had  he  been  near  Marie  Porter,  conse 
quently  he  knew  nothing  of  the  means  by  which  she 
had  imposed  upon  him  the  story  of  her  death.  But 
Rosamond  knew — Rosamond  could  tell  him,  and  from 
no  other  lips  would  he  hear  it.  So,  when  he  learned 
that  she  was  better,  he  asked  to  see  her  alone,  and 
Mrs.  Peters,  to  whom  he  had  necessarily  confided  the 
story  of  his  marriage,  carried  his  message  to  Rosa 
mond. 

For  a  moment  Rosamond  did  not  seem  to  hear,  but 


90  ROSAMOND. 

when  the  message  was  repeated,,  the  great  tears  forced 
themselves  from  beneath  her  long  eyelashes,  and  rolling 
down  her  cheeks,  dropped  upon  the  pillow. 

"  He  might  have  spared  me  this,"  she  said,  "  but  if 
it  is  his  wish,  I  can  see  him." 

With  a  mighty  effort  she  stilled  the  violent  throb- 
bings  of  her  heart,  forced  an  unnatural  calm  upon  her 
face  and  whispered — "  Let  him  come  now  ;  I  am  ready." 

He  was  standing  without  the  door,  so  near  that  he 
heard  the  words,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side. 
Falling  upon  his  knees  before  her,  he  clasped  her  hands 
in  his,  imploring  her  forgiveness  for  the  great  wrong 
he  had  done  her  in  not  telling  her  the  truth  at  first. 
"  But  I  am  innocent  of  the  last,"  he  said ;  "  believe  me, 
Rosamond,  I  thought  her  dead,  or  I  had  never  asked 
you  to  be  my  wife.  I  know  not  how  she  deceived  me 
so  terribly,  but  you  know,  and  I  have  sought  this  in 
terview  to  hear  the  story  from  your  own  lips.  Will 
you  tell  it  to  me,  darling — Miss  Leyton,  I  mean,"  he 
added  hastily,  as  he  saw  a  shadow  of  pain  flit  over  her 
face. 

"  I  will  if  I  can,"  she  faintly  answered,  and  sum 
moning  all  her  strength,  she  repeated  to  him  what 
Miss  Porter  had  told  her,  except,  indeed,  the  parts  with 
which  she  knew  he  was  familiar. 

"  The  plot  was  worthy  of  her  who  planned  it,"  he 
said  bitterly ;  then,  as  Rosamond  made  no  reply,  he 
continued — "  she  told  you,  I  suppose,  of  our  married 
life,  and  painted  me  the  blackest  villain  that  ever  trod 
the  earth.  This  may  in  part  be  true,  but,  Rosamond, 
though  I  may  never  know  the  bliss  of  calling  }TOU  my 
wife,  I  cannot  be  thus  degraded  in  your  sight  and  offer 
no  apology.  I  was  a  boy — a  self-willed,  high-  tempered 
boy,  nineteen  years  of  age,  and  she  aggravated  me  be- 


THE  END.  91 

yond  all  human  endurance,  seeking  ways  and  means  by 
which  she  could  provoke  me.  I  loved  her  at  first — 
nay,  do  not  turn  away  incredulously.  Heaven  is  my 
witness  that  I  loved  her,  or  thought  I  did,  but  'twas  a 
boyish  love,  and  not  such  as  I  feel  for  you." 

"  You  swore  at  her,"  said  Rosamond,  unable  to  rec 
oncile  love  with  an  oath. 

"  Once — only  once,"  he  replied.  "  I  blush  to  own  it, 
for  it  was  not  a  manly  act." 

"  You  struck  her,"  and  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
been  in  that  room  the  brown  eyes  rested  full  upon  his 
face. 

"Yes,  Rosamond,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  own  that,  too, 
but  she  goaded  me  to  madness,  and  even  raised  her 
voice  against  my  sainted  mother,  who  had  borne  so 
dastardly  a  son  as  //  " 

"  And  Riverside  ?  "  said  Rosamond.  "  Did  your 
uncle  die  deceived  ?  " 

"  Never — never,"  Mr.  Browning  exclaimed,  starting 
to  his  feet.  "  I  told  the  whole  truth,  or  I  would  not 
have  lived  here  a  day.  Rosamond,  I  have  greatly 
sinned,  but  she  has  not  been  blameless.  She  insulted 
me  in  every  possible  way,  even  to  giving  you  her  wed 
ding  ring,  and  then,  lest  I  should  not  see  it,  wrote  to 
me  '  to  look  upon  your  finger.'  No  wonder  you 
thought  me  mad  !  " 

"Her  wedding  ring!  Could  she  do  that?"  said 
Rosamond. 

"  Yes,  her  wedding  ring.  It  first  belonged  to  Susan, 
who  gave  it  to  me  for  the  occasion,  and  two  weeks 
after  I  had  it  marked  with  Marie's  name  and  the  date 
of  our  marriage.  It  is  broken  now,  and  I  would  to 
Heaven  I  could  thus  easily  break  the  tie  which  binds 
me  to  her,  and  keeps  me  from  you !  Oh,  Rosamond^ 


92  ROSAMOND. 

Kosaraond,  must  it  be  ?  Must  I  live  my  life  without 
you,  when  I  need  you  so  much — when  my  heart  longs 
so  to  claim  you  for  its  own  \  " 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  Rosamond 
could  see  the  tears  dropping  slowly  through  his  fingers. 
Terribly  was  he  expatiating  the  sin  of  his  boyhood,  and 
what  wonder  is  it,  if,  in  his  agony,  he  cried,  "  My  pun 
ishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear !  " 

Rosamond  alone  was  calm.  She  seemed  to  have 
Avept  her  tears  away,  and  the  blow  which  had  fallen  so 
crushingly  upon  her,  had  benumbed  her  heart,  so  that 
she  now  did  not  feel  as  acutely  as  the  weeping  man 
before  her.  Yery  soothingly,  she  spoke  to  him,  but 
she  offered  no  word  of  cheer — no  hope  that  all  would 
yet  be  well.  "  They  would  bear  it  with  brave  hearts," 
she  said,  "  And  he  must  be  reconciled  to  his  wife." 

"Never — never,"  he  exclaimed.  "The  same  roof 
cannot  shelter  us  both,  and  if  she  chooses  to  stay  when 
she  is  better,  she  is  welcome  to  Riverside,  but  I  cannot 
share  it  with  her." 

Neither  said  to  the  other,  "  It  may  be  she  will  die," 
for  such  a  thought  had  never  intruded  itself  upon  their 
minds,  and  yet  Marie  Porter's  life  was  numbered  now 
by  days.  The  heart  disease,  from  which  she  had  long 
been  suffering,  was  greatly  aggravated  by  the  strong 
nervous  excitement  through  which  she  had  recently 
been  passing.  Stimulants  of  a  most  powerful  kind  had 
created  a  kind  of  artificial  strength,  which  had  enabled 
her  to  come  to  Riverside,  but  this  was  fast  subsiding ; 
and  when  she  bent  over  the  motionless  form  of  Rosa 
mond,  and  feared  that  she  was  dead,  she  felt,  indeed, 
that  death  would  ere  long  claim  her  as  his  own.  The 
sight  of  her  husband,  too,  had  well-nigh  been  more 
than  she  could  bear.  For  nearly  nine  long  years  she 


THE  END.  93 

had  not  looked  upon  his  face,  but  she  remembered  it 
well — a  handsome,  boyish  face.  His  hair  she  remem 
bered,  too — his  soft,  dark,  wavy  hair,  through  which 
her  fingers  had  sometimes  strayed,  in  the  far  back  days 
at  Holly  "Wood,  before  she  was  his  bride.  He  would 
not  be  greatly  changed,  she  thought ;  and  when,  on 
that  fatal  night,  she  heard  his  coming  footsteps,  she 
pictured  him  in  her  mind  much  as  he  was  that  winter- 
day,  when,  standing  in  his  sister's  door,  he  bade  her  a 
long  good-by.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  had  come — 
faster  and  louder  had  beaten  her  heart,  while  a  cold, 
faint  sickness  crept  over  her. 

"  Open  the  window — I  cannot  breathe,"  she  gasped  ; 
but  ere  her  request  was  obeyed,  Ralph  Browning  had 
fainted  on  the  threshold,  and  she  had  asked  that  she 
might  die. 

She  had  seen  him  only  for  an  instant,  but  that 
sufficed  to  tell  her  he  was  changed  from  the  dark-haired, 
handsome  boy,  into  the  gray-haired  suffering  man. 
His  eyes  had  met  hers,  but  the  fierce  hatred  she  ex 
pected,  was  not  there ;  and  the  look  of  utter  hopeless 
despair  which  she  saw  in  its  place,  touched  her  as 
reproach  and  resentment  could  not  have  done. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  I  shall  die,"  she  said,  as  she  hid  her 
face  in  the  pillow.  "  1  hope  I  shall  die." 

This  wish  she  uttered  every  hour ;  and  when,  at  last, 
the  physician  said  to  her,  "  Madam,  you  will  die,"  she 
answered,  "  It  is  well !  " 

She  did  not  ask  for  Mr.  Browning,  for  she  knew  he 
would  not  come,  but  she  inquired  anxiously  each  day 
for  Rosamond  ;  and  when,  at  last,  she  heard  they  were 
together,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  and  watch 
ing  its  rise  and  fall,  smiled  to  think  how  fast  her  life 
was  going  out. 


94  ROSAMOND. 

"  Listen,  Maria,"  she  said,  "  Listen  to  what  they  say, 
and  hear  if  they  talk  of  me." 

Noiselessly  Maria  glided  to  the  door  of  Rosamond's 
chamber — stood  there  for  a  moment  and  then  as  noise 
lessly  came  repeating  to  her  mistress  the  substance  of 
what  she  had  heard,  together  with  sundry  little  embel 
lishments  of  her  own. 

"  He  will  give  you  Riverside  and  go  away  himself," 
she  said,  and  Miss  Porter  quickly  rejoined,  "  Go  where  ? 
Go  with  whom  ?  " 

"  "With  Miss  Ley  ton  of  course,"  returned  Maria. 
"  He  said  he  would  not  live  without  her." 

"  The  wretch  !  "  ejaculated  the  angry  woman,  all  her 
softer  emotions  giving  way  to  this  fancied  insult.  "  He 
might  at  least  wait  now  until  I'm  dead.  I'll  go  to  him 
myself,  and  see  if  in  my  presence  he  dare  talk  thus  to 
her." 

She  was  greatly  excited,  and  spite  of  the  painful 
throbbings  of  her  heart  and  the  dizzy  sensation  she  felt 
stealing  over  her,  she  stepped  upon  the  floor,  and  hur 
riedly  crossed  the  room.  The  effort  was  too  much  for 
her  feeble  strength,  and  she  sank  fainting  upon  a  chair. 
The  girl  Maria  had  seen  her  faint  before,  but  never  be 
fore  had  she  seen  so  fearful  a  look  upon  her  face,  and 
she  ran  in  terror  to  Mr.  Browning,  beseeching  him  to 
come  "  for  her  mistress  was  dying  sure,  and  would 
trouble  nobody  much  more." 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  but  when  Rosamond  said 
"Go,"  he  went.  Taking  the  fainting  woman  in  his 
arms  he  laid  her  upon  the  bed  as  gently,  though  not 
as  tenderly  as  he  would  have  lain  his  Rosamond  there. 

"  Call  Mrs.  Peters,"  he  said,  and  when  that  matron 
came,  he  bade  her  give  to  the  invalid  every  possible 
care. 


THE  END.  95 

Slowly  Miss  Porter  caine  back  to  life,  but  it  was 
only  to  faint  again,  and  with  each  fainting  fit  it  became 
more  and  more  apparent  that  life  was  ebbing  fast. 
They  did  not  say  to  Rosamond  that  she  would  die,  but 
they  told  it  to  Mr.  Browning,  who  heard  as  one  who 
hears  not.  Every  other  sensation  seemed  to  have  given 
place  to  a  feeling  of  horror,  and  when  at  the  close  of 
the  second  day  word  came  to  him  that  she  was  dying, 
and  had  asked  to  see  him,  he  arose  mechanically  and 
walked  to  her  sick  room  as  calmly  as  he  had  visited  it 
the  previous  night,  when  he  knew  she  was  asleep.  One 
glance,  however,  at  her  white  face  and  wild  bright  eyes 
roused  him  to  the  reality,  and  bending  over  her  pillow, 
he  forced  himself  to  take  her  hand  in  his,  saying  kindly, 
"  Marie,  do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Know  you  ? "  "  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  You  are 
my  husband — my  husband."  She  lingered  upon  that 
name  as  if  its  sound  recalled  to  life  some  olden  feeling 
— some  memory  of  Holly  Wood,  where  they  first  had 
met. 

"  Marie,  you  are  dying,"  he  continued.  "  Shall  we 
part  in  anger,  or  in  peace  ? " 

"  In  peace,  if  you  will,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  had 
my  revenge — but  it  is  not  sweet  as  some  say  it  is.  I 
would  rather,  Ralph,  that  I  had  never  known  you,  for 
then  I  should  not  have  been  the  wicked  wretch  I  am." 

Mr.  Browning*  did  not  reply  to  this,  and  for  a  few 
moments  there  was  silence,  during  which  she  seemed 
to  sleep.  Rousing  up  ere  long,  she  gasped  for  breath, 
and  grasping  nervously  her  husband's  hand,  she  whis 
pered,  "  I  am  going  now — there's  no  sham  this  time — 
five  minutes  more,  and  you  are  free  to  marry  Rosa 
mond.  Be  kind  to  her,  Ralph.  Deal  with  her  not  as 
you  dealt  with  me,  and — and — come  closer  to  me, 


96  ROSAMOND 

Ralph.     Let  me  whisper  this  last  so  as  so  one  can 
hear." 

He  bent  him  down  to  listen,  and  summoning  all  her 
strength,  she  said,  not  in  a  whisper,  but  in  tones  which 
echoed  through  the  silent  room — "  NEVER,  NEVER  STRIKE 

ROSAMOND,  WILL  YOU  ?  " 

#*#••**### 

Rapidly  the  story  circulated  that  the  strange  woman 
who  lay  dead  at  Riverside  had  been  Ralph  Browning's 
wife,  and  hundreds  flocked  to  the  funeral,  hoping  to 
gain  a  view  of  the  deceased.  But  in  this  they  were 
disappointed,  for  there  was  nothing  visible,  save  the 
handsome  coffin,  on  whose  silver  plate  was  inscribed 
the  word  "  MARIE." 

Some  said  that  "  Browning  "  might  have  been  added 
to  the  name,  and  while  others  marveled  that  the  hus 
band  wore  no  badge  of  mourning,  a  few  said  wisely 
that  the  mourning  was  visible  in  other  than  the  usual 
signs — in  the  hair  gray  before  its  time,  and  in  the  deep- 
cut  lines  which  a  living  sorrow  alone  had  made.  And 
so,  amid  surmises  of  the  past  and  foretellings  of  the 
future,  the  ill-fated  Marie  was  laid  in  the  village  vault, 
until  word  could  be  received  from  her  old  uncle,  who 
might  wish  to  have  her  rest  among  the  balmy  groves 
and  fragrant  flowers  of  her  beautiful  Florida  home. 

And  now  our  story  winds  to  its  close.  Ralph  Brown 
ing  was  free  indeed,  but  death  had  been  at  Riverside, 
and  the  shadow  it  had  left  must  disappear  ere  he  took 
to  himself  a  second  bride.  Rosamond,  too,  must  recover 
from  the  blow  which  had  fallen  so  crushingly  on  her — 
must  learn  to  confide  again  in  the  man  she  loved — to 
think  of  the  great  wrong  he  had  done  her  as  the  result 
of  an  early,  boyish  error,  which  he  regretted  even  more 
bitterly  than  herself. 


THE  END.  97 

And  so  the  warm  spring  rains  had  fallen  and  the 
April  blossoms  were  bursting  from  the  dark,  moist 
earth  ere  the  wedding  morning  came.  At  the  bridal 
there  was  no  satin  dress — no  orange  wreath — no  flow 
ing  veil — but  there  was  perfect  love  shining  in  the 
beautiful  brown  eyes  of  the  girlish  bride,  while  the  fine 
face  of  the  bridegroom  wore  a  look  of  perfect  happi 
ness,  as  if  the  past  were  all  forgotten,  and  the  world 
was  bright  and  new.  Europe  was  still  their  destination, 
and  among  those  who  accompanied  them  to  New  York, 
going  with  them  even  to  the  vessel's  deck,  none  bade 
them  a  more  affectionate  adieu  than  Mrs.  Van  Yechten 
herself.  She  had  spent  a  part  of  the  winter  at  River 
side,  and  had  learned  to  appreciate  the  gentle  girl  who 
she  knew  was  to  be  her  brother's  wife. 

Ben,  too,  was  of  the  party.  He  had  listened  in 
amazement  to  the  story  of  his  uncle's  first  marriage, 
wondering  how  it  could  have  been  kept  from  him,  and 
remembering  several  little  incidents,  the  meaning  of 
which  he  now  understood.  He  had  given  up  the  Cri 
mean  war,  as  well  as  the  dancing  girl,  and  now  he  had 
given  up  Rosamond,  too,  but  he  bore  it  quite  heroically, 
and  ever  after  took  especial  pains  to  speak  of  her  as 
"  My  Aunt  Rosamond"  For  more  than  a  year  the 
bridal  pair  remained  abroad,  and  then  returned  again 
to  Riverside,  where  now  the  patter  of  tiny  feet,  and  the 
voice  of  childhood  is  heard,  for  children  have  gathered 
around  the  hearthstone,  and  in  all  the  world  there  is 
not  a  prouder,  happier  wife  and  mother  than  the  little 
Rosamond  who  once  on  a  dreary  November  day  lis 
tened,  with  a  breaking  heart,  to  the  story  of  Ralph 
Browning's  Youthful  Error. 


DIAMONDS. 

BAD  SPELLING. 

MAGGIE  LEE. 

THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

DIAMONDS 7 

BAD  SPELLING 22 

MAGGIE  LEE 33 

THE   ANSWERED  PBAYER 47 


DIAMONDS. 


"  THE  boys  mustn't  look  at  the  girls,  and  the  girls 
must  look  on  their  books,"  was  said  at  least  a  dozen 
times  by  the  village  schoolmaster,  on  that  stormy 
morning  when  Cora  Blanch ard  and  I — she  in  her 
brother's  boots,  and  I  in  my  father's  socks — waded 
through  drift  after  drift  of  snow  to  the  old  brown 
schoolhouse  at  the  foot  of  the  long,  steep  hill. 

We  were  the  only  girls  who  had  dared  to  brave  that 
wintry  storm,  and  we  felt  amply  repaid  for  our  trouble, 
when  we  saw  how  much  attention  we  received  from  the 
ten  tall  boys  who  had  come — some  for  fun — some  be 
cause  they  saw  Cora  Blanchard  go  by — and/me,  "Walter 
Beaumont,  because  he  did  not  wish  to  lose  the  lesson 
of  the  day.  Our  teacher,  Mr.  Grannis,  was  fitting  him 
for  college,  and  every  moment  was  precious  to  the 
white-browed,  intellectual  student,  who  was  quite  a 
lion  among  us  girls,  partly  because  he  was  older,  and 
partly  because  he  never  noticed  us  as  much  as  did  the 
other  boys.  On  this  occasion,  however,  he  was  quite 
attentive  to  Cora,  at  least,  pulling  off  her  boots,  re 
moving  her  hood,  and  brushing  the  large  snow-flakes 
from  her  soft  wavy  hair,  while  her  dark  brown  eyes 
smiled  gratefully  upon  him,  as  he  gave  her  his  warm 
seat  by  the  stove. 

That  morning  Cora  wrote  to  me  slily  on  her  slate  :— 

1 


8  DIAMONDS. 

"  I  don't  care  if  mother  does  say  "Walter  Beaumont 
is  poor  as  poverty—},  like  him  best  of  anybody  in  the 
world — don't  you  ? " 

I  thought  of  the  big  red  apple  in  my  pocket,  and  of 
the  boy  who  had  so  carefully  shaken  the  snow  from  off 
my  father's  socks,  and  answered,  "  No  " — thinking,  the 
while,  that  I  should  say  yes,  if  Walter  had  ever  treated 
me  as  he  did  my  playmate  and  friend  Cora  Blanchard. 
She  was  a  beautiful  young  girl,  a  favorite  with  all,  and 
possessing,  as  it  seemed,  but  one  glaring  fault — a  prone- 
ness  to  estimate  people  for  their  wealth  rather  than 
their  worth.  This  in  a  measure  was  the  result  of  her 
home-training,  for  her  family,  though  far  from  being 
rich,  were  very  aristocratic,  and  strove  to  keep  their 
children  as  much  as  possible  from  associating  with  the 
"  vulgar  herd,"  as  they  styled  the  laboring  class  of  the 
community.  In  her  secret  heart  Cora  had  long  cher 
ished  a  preference  for  Walter,  though  never,  until  the 
morning  of  which  I  write,  had  it  been  so  openly 
avowed.  And  Walter,  too,  while  knowing  how  far 
above  him  she  was  in  point  of  position,  had  dared  to 
dream  of  a  time  when  a  bright-haired  woman,  with  a 
face  much  like  that  of  the  girlish  Cora,  would  gladden 
his  home,  wherever  it  might  be. 

That  noon,  as  we  sat  around  the  glowing  stove,  we 
played  as  children  will,  and  it  came  my  turn  to  "  answer 
truly  whom  I  intended  to  marry."  Without  a  thought 
of  the  big  apple,  the  snowy  socks,  or  of  any  one  in 
particular,  I  replied  unhesitatingly — "  The  one  I  love 
best,"  and  the  question  passed  on  to  Cora,  who  was 
sitting  by  the  side  of  Walter  Beaumont.  He  had  not 
joined  in  our  sport,  but  now  his  eye  left  his  book  and 
rested  upon  Cora  with  an  expression  half  fearful,  half 
expectant.  She,  too,  glanced  at  him,  and  as  if  the 


DIAMONDS.  9 

spirit  of  prophecy  were  upon  her,  she  said — "  I  shall 
not  marry  the  one  I  love  the  best,  but  the  one  who  has 
the  most  money,  and  can  give  me  the  handsomest 
diamonds.  Sister  Fanny  has  a  magnificent  set,  and 
she  looks  so  beautifully  when  she  wears  them." 

Instantly  there  fell  a  shadow  on  "Walter  Beaumont's 
face,  and  his  eye  returned  again  to  the  Latin  lettered 
page.  But  his  thoughts  were  not  of  what  was  written 
there ;  he  was  thinking  of  the  humble  cottage  on  the 
borders  of  the  wood,  of  the  rag-carpet  on  the  oaken 
floor,  of  the  plain  old-fashioned  furniture,  and  of  the 
gentle,  loving  woman  who  called  him  "  her  boy,"  and 
that  spot  her  home.  There  were  no  diamonds  there — 
no  money — and  Cora,  if  for  these  she  married,  would 
never  be  his  wife.  Early  and  late  he  toiled  and  studied, 
wearing  his  threadbare  coat  and  coarse  brown  pants — 
for  an  education,  such  as  he  must  have,  admitted  of  no 
useless  expenditure,  and  the  costly  gems  which  Cora 
craved  were  not  his  to  give.  In  the  pure,  unselfish  love 
springing  up  for  her  within  his  heart,  there  were 
diamonds  of  imperishable  value,  and  these,  together 
with  the  name  he  would  make  for  himself,  he  would 
offer  her,  but  nothing  more,  and  for  many  weeks  there 
was  a  shadow  on  his  brow,  though  he  was  kind  and 
considerate  to  her  as  of  old. 

As  the  spring  and  summer  glided  by,  however,  there 
came  a  change,  and  when,  in  the  autumn,  he  left  our 
village  for  New  Haven,  there  was  a  happy,  joyous  look 
upon  his  face,  while  a  tress  of  Cora's  silken  hair  was 
lying  next  his  heart.  Every  week  he  wrote  to  her,  and 
Cora  answered,  always  showing  to  me  what  she  had 
written,  but  never  a  word  of  his.  "There  was  too 
much  love,"  she  said,  "  too  much  good  advice  in  his 
letters  for  me  to  see,"  and  thus  the  time  passed  on, 


10  DIAMONDS. 

until  "Walter,  who  had  entered  the  junior  class,  was 
graduated  with  honor,  and  was  about  to  commence  a 
theological  course  at  Andover,  for  he  had  made  the 
ministry  his  choice.  He  was  twenty-one  now,  and 
Cora  was  sixteen.  "Wondrously  beautiful  she  was  to 
look  upon,  with  her  fair  young  face,  her  soft  brown 
eyes,  and  wavy  hair.  And  Walter  Beaumont  loved 
her  devotedly,  believing  too,  that  she  in  turn  loved  him, 
for  one  summer  afternoon,  in  the  green  old  woods 
which  skirted  the  little  village,  she  had  sat  by  his  side, 
and  with  the  sunbeams  glancing  down  upon  her  through 
the  overhanging  boughs,  she  had  told  him  so,  and 
promised  some  day  to  be  his  wife.  Still,  she  would 
not  hear  of  a  positive  engagement — both  should  be  free 
to  change  their  mind  if  they  wished,  she  said,  and  with 
this  Walter  was  satisfied. 

"  I  have  no  diamonds  to  give  you,  darling,"  he  said, 
drawing  her  close  to  him  ;  and  Cora,  knowing  to  what 
he  referred,  answered  that  "  his  love  was  dearer  to  her 
than  all  the  world  besides."  Alas,  that  woman  should 
be  so  fickle ! 

The  same  train  which  carried  Walter  away,  brought 
Mrs.  Blanchard  a  letter  from  her  daughter,  a  dashing, 
fashionable  woman,  who  lived  in  the  city,  and  who 
wished  to  bring  her  sister  Cora  "out"  the  coming 
winter.  "  She  is  old  enough  now,"  she  wrote,  "  to  be 
looking  for  a  husband,  and  of  course  she'll  never  do 
anything  in  that  by-place." 

This  proposition,  which  accorded  exactly  with  Mrs. 
Blanchard's  wishes,  was  joyfully  acceded  to  by  Cora, 
who,  while  anticipating  the  pleasure  which  awaited  her, 
had  yet  no  thought  of  proving  false  to  Walter,  and  in 
the  letter  which  she  wrote  informing  him  of  her  plan, 
she  assured  him  of  her  unchanging  fidelity,  little 


DIAMONDS.  11 

dreaming  that  the  promise  thus  made  would  so  soon  be 
broken  !  Petted,  caressed,  flattered  and  admired,  as 
she  was  in  the  circle  of  her  sister's  friends,  how  could 
she  help  growing  worldly  and  vain,  or  avoid  contrast 
ing  the  plain,  unassuming  Walter,  with  the  polished 
and  gayly-dressed  butterflies  who  thronged  Mrs.  Bur 
ton's  drawing-room.  When  the  summer  came  again, 
she  did  not  return  to  us  as  we  had  expected,  but  we 
heard  of  her  at  Saratoga,  and  Newport,  the  admired  of 
all  admirers;  while  one,  it  was  said,  a  man  of  high 
position  and  untold  wealth,  bid  fair  to  win  the  beau 
teous  belle.  Meantime,  her  letters  to  Walter  grew  short 
and  far  between,  ceasing  at  length  altogether  ;  and  one 
day,  during  the  second  winter  of  her  residence  in  the 
city,  I  received  from  her  a  package  containing  his 
miniature,  the  books  he  had  given  her,  and  the  letters 
he  had  written.  These  she  wished  me  to  give  him 
when  next  I  saw  him,  bidding  me  tell  him  to  think  no 
more  of  one  who  was  not  worthy  of  him. 

"  To  be  plain,  Lottie,"  she  wrote,  "  I'm  engaged,  and 
though  Mr.  Douglass  is  not  a  bit  like  Walter,  he  has  a 
great  deal  of  money,  drives  splendid  horses,  and  I 
reckon  we  shall  get  on  well  enough.  I  wish,  though, 
he  was  not  quite  so  old.  You'll  be  shocked  to  hear 
that  he  is  almoBtj$^$r,  though  he  looks  about  forty  ! 
I  know  I  don't  like  him  as  well  as  I  did  Walter,  but 
after  seeing  as  much  of  the  world  as  I  have,  I  could 
not  settle  down  into  the  wife  of  a  poor  minister.  I 
am  not  good  enough,  and  you  must  tell  him  so.  I 
hope  he  won't  feel  badly — poor  Walter.  I've  kept  the 
lock  of  his  hair.  I  couldn't  part  with  that ;  but,  of 
course,  Mr.  Douglass  will  never  see  it.  His  hair  is 
gray !  Good-by." 

This  was  what  she  wrote,  and  when  I  heard  from 


12  DIAMONDS. 

her  again,  she  was  Cora  Douglass,  and  her  feet  were 
treading  the  shores  of  the  old  world,  whither  she  has 
gone  on  a  bridal  tour. 


In  the  solitude  of  his  chamber,  the  young  student 
learned  the  sad  news  from  a  paragraph  in  a  city  paper, 
and  bowing  his  head  upon  the  table,  he  strove  to  artic 
ulate,  "  It  is  well,"  but  the  flesh  was  weak,  warring 
with  the  spirit,  and  the  heart  which  Cora  Blanchard 
had  cruelly  trampled  down,  clung  to  her  still  with  a 
death-like  fondness,  and  following  her  even  across  the 
waste  of  waters,  cried  out — "  How  can  I  give  her  up ! " 
But  when  he  remembered,  as  he  ere  long  did,  that 
'twas  a  sin  to  love  her  now,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and,  calling  on  God  to  help  him  in  this  his  hour 
of  need,  wept  such  tears  as  never  again  would  fall 
for  Cora  Blanchard. 

The  roses  in  our  garden  were  faded,  and  the  leaves 
of  autumn  were  piled  upon  the  ground,  ere  he  came  to 
his  home  again,  and  I  had  an  opportunity  of  present 
ing  him  with  the  package  which  many  months  before 
had  been  committed  to  my  care.  His  face  was  very 
pale,  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  asked  me — "  Where 
is  she  now  ?  " 

"  In  Italy,"  I  answered,  adding  that  "  her  husband 
was  said  to  be  very  wealthy." 

Bowing  mechanically,  he  walked  away,  and  a  year 
and  a  half  went  by  ere  I  saw  him  again.  Then  he 
came  among  us  as  our  minister.  The  old,  white-haired 
pastor  who  for  so  long  had  told  us  of  the  Good  Shep 
herd  and  the  better  land,  was  sleeping  at  last  in  the 
quiet  grave-yard,  and  the  people  had  chosen  young 


DIAMONDS.  13 

Walter  Beaumont  to  fill  his  place.  He  was  a  splen 
did-looking  man — tall,  erect,  and  finely  formed,  with  a 
most  winning  manner,  and  a  face  which  betokened  in 
tellect  of  the  highest  order.  We  were  proud  of  him, 
all  us — proud  of  our  clergyman,  who,  on  the  third 
Sabbath  in  June,  was  to  be  ordained  in  the  old  brick 
church,  before  whose  altar  he  had  years  ago  been  bap 
tized,  a  smiling  infant. 

On  the  Thursday  afternoon  preceding  the  ordination, 
a  large  traveling  carriage,  covered  with  dust  and  laden 
with  trunks,  passed  slowly  through  our  village,  attract 
ing  much  attention.  Seated  within  it  was  a  portly, 
gray-haired  man,  resting  his  chin  upon  a  gold-headed 
cane,  and  looking  curiously  out  at  the  people  in  the 
street,  who  stared  as  curiously  at  him.  Directly  op 
posite  him,  and  languidly  reclining  upon  the  soft  cush 
ions,  was  a  white,  proud-faced  lady,  who  evidently  felt 
no  interest  in  what  was  passing  around  her,  for  her 
eyes  were  cast  down,  and  her  thoughts  seemed  busy 
elsewhere.  I  was  sitting  at  my  chamber  window,  gaz 
ing  out  upon  them,  and  just  as  they  drew  near  the 
gate,  the  lady  raised  her  eyes — the  soft,  brown  eyes, 
which  once  had  won  the  love  of  Walter  Beaumont,  and 
in  which  there  was  now  an  unmistakable  look  of  an 
guish,  as  if  the  long  eyelashes,  drooping  so  wearily 
upon  the  colorless  cheek,  were  constantly  forcing  back 
the  hidden  tears.  And  this  was  Cora  Douglass,  come 
back  to  us  again  from  her  travels  in  a  foreign  land. 
She  knew  me  in  a  moment,  and  in  her  face  there  was 
much  of  her  olden  look  as,  bending  forward,  she  smiled 
a  greeting,  and  waved  toward  me  her  white,  jeweled 
hand,  on  which  the  diamonds  flashed  brightly  in  the 
sunlight. 

The  next  morning  we  met,  but  not  in  the  presence 


14  DIAMONDS. 

of  the  old  man,  her  husband.  Down  in  the  leafy 
woods,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Mrs.  Beaumont's 
cottage,  was  a  running  brook  and  mossy  bank,  over 
shadowed  by  the  sycamore  and  elm.  This,  in  the  days 
gone  by,  had  been  our  favorite  resort.  Here  had  we 
built  our  playhouse,  washing  our  bits  of  broken  china 
in  the  rippling  stream — here  had  we  watched  the  little 
fishes  as  they  darted  in  and  out  of  the  deeper  eddies — 
here  had  we  conned  our  daily  tasks — here  had  she  lis 
tened  to  a  tale  of  love,  the  memory  of  which  seemed 
but  a  mocking  dream,  and  here,  as  I  faintly  hoped,  I 
found  her.  With  a  half-joyful,  half-moaning  cry,  she 
threw  her  arms  around  my  neck,  and  I  could  feel  her 
tears  dropping  upon  my  face  as  she  whispered,  "  Oh, 
Lottie,  Lottie,  we  have  met  again  by  the  dear  old 
brook." 

For  a  few  moments  she  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break,  then  suddenly  drying  her  tears,  she  assumed  a 
calm,  cold,  dignified  manner,  such  as  I  Lad  never  seen 
in  Cora  Blanchard.  Yery  composedly  she  questioned 
me  of  what  I  had  done  during  her  absence,  telling  me, 
too,  of  her  travels,  of  the  people  she  had  seen  and  the 
places  she  had  visited,  but  never  a  word  said  she  of  him 
she  called  her  husband.  From  the  bank  where  we  sat, 
the  village  grave-yard  was  discernible,  with  its  marble 
gleaming  through  the  trees,  and  at  last,  as  her  eye 
wandered  in  that  direction,  shesaid,  "  Have  any  of  our 
villagers  died  ?  Mother's  letters  were  never  very  defi 
nite." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  Our  minister,  Mr.  Suraner, 
died  two  months  ago." 

"  "Who  takes  his  place  ?  "  she  asked  ;  and,  as  if  a  sus 
picion  of  the  truth  were  flashing  upon  her,  her  eyes 
turned  toward  me  with  an  eager,  startled  glance. 


DIAMONDS.  15 

"  "Walter  Beaumont.  He  is  to  be  ordained  next  Sab 
bath,  and  you  are  just  in  time,"  I  replied,  regretting 
my  words  the  next  instant,  for  never  saw  I  so  fearful 
a  look  of  anguish  as  that  which  swept  over  her  face, 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  cold,  Hard,  defiant  expression, 
scarcely  less  painful  to  witness. 

She  would  have  questioned  me  of  him,  I  think,  had 
not  an  approaching  footstep  caught  our'  ear,  sending  a 
crimson  flush  to  Cora's  hitherto  marble  cheek,  and 
producing  on  me  a  most  unpleasant  sensation,  for  I 
knew  that  the  gray-haired  man  now  within  a  few 
paces  of  us,  was  he  who  called  that  young  creature  Ms 
wife.  Golden  was  the  chain  by  which  he  had  bound 
her,  and  every  link  was  set  with  diamonds  and  costly 
stones,  but  it  had  rusted  and  eaten  to  her  very  heart's 
core,  for  the  most  precious  gem  of  all  was  missing 
from  that  chain — love  for  her  husband,  who,  fortu 
nately  for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  was  too  conceited  to 
dream  how  little  she  cared  for  him.  He  was  not  hand 
some,  and  still  many  would  have  called  him  a  fine 
looking,  middle-aged  man,  though  there  was  something 
disagreeable  in  his  thin,  compressed  lips  and  intensely 
black  eyes — the  one  betokening  a  violent  temper,  and 
the  other  an  indomitable  will.  To  me  he  was  exceed 
ingly  polite — rather  too  much  so  for  my  perfect  ease, 
while  toward  Cora  he  tried  to  be  very  affectionate. 

Seating  himself  at  her  side,  and  throwing  his  arm 
around  her,  he  called  her  a  "  little  truant,"  and  asked 
"  why  she  had  run  away  from  him." 

Half  pettishly  she  answered,  "  Because  I  like  some 
times  to  be  alone,"  then,  rising  up  and  turning  toward 
me  she  asked  if  "  the  water  still  ran  over  the  old  mill 
dam  in  the  west  woods  just  as  it  used  to  do,"  saying  if 
it  did,  she  wished  to  see  it.  "  You  can't  go,"  she  con- 


16  DIAMONDS. 

tinued,  addressing  her  husband,  "  for  it  is  more  than  a 
mile,  over  fences  and  plowed  fields." 

This  was  sufficient^,  for  Mr.  Douglass  was  very  fas 
tidious  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  his  dress,  and  had 
no  fancy  for  soiling  his  white  pants,  or  patent  leathers. 
So  Cora  and  I  set  off  together,  while  he  walked  slow 
ly  back  to  the  village.  Scarcely  was  he  out  of  sight, 
however,  when,  seating  herself  beneath  a  tree,  and 
throwing  her  flat  upon  the  ground,  Cora  announced 
her  intention  of  not  going  any  further. 

"  I  only  wished  to  be  alone.  I  breathe  so  much 
better,"  she  said,  and  when  I  looked  inquiringly  at  her, 
she  continued,  "  Never  marry  a  man  for  his  wealth, 
Lottie,  unless  you  wish  to  become  as  hard,  as  wicked 
and  unhappy  as  I  am.  John  Douglass  is  worth  more 
than  half  a  million,  and  yet  I  would  give  it  all  if  I  were 
the  same  little  girl  who,  six  years  ago,  waded  with  you 
through  the  snowdrifts  to  school  on  that  stormy  day. 
Do  you  remember  what  we  played  that  noon  and  my 
foolish  remark  that  I  would  marry  for  money  and 
diamonds  !  Woe  is  me,  I've  won  them  both  ! "  and 
her  tears  fell  fast  on  the  sparkling  gems  which  covered 
her  slender  fingers. 

Just  then  I  saw  in  the  distance  a  young  man  whom 
I  knew  to  be  Walter  Beaumont.  He  seemed  to  be  ap 
proaching  us,  and  when  Cora  became  aware  of  that, 
she  started  up  and  grasping  my  arm,  hurried  away, 
saying,  as  she  cast  backward  a  fearful  glance,  "  I  would 
rather  die  than  meet  him  now.  I  am  not  prepared." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  way  we  walked  on  in  si 
lence,  until  we  reached  her  mother's  gate,  where  we 
found  her  husband  waiting  for  her.  Bidding  me  good 
morning  she  followed  him  slowly  up  the  graveled  walk 
and  I  saw  her  no  more  until  the  following  Sabbath. 


DIAMONDS.  IT 

It  was  a  gloriously  beautiful  morning,  and  at  an  early 
hour  the  old  brick  church  was  filled  to  overflowing, 
for  Walter  had  many  friends,  and  they  came  together 
gladly  to  see  him  made  a  minister  of  God.  During 
the  first  part  of  the  service  he  was  very  pale,  and  his 
eye  wandered  often  toward  the  large,  square  pew  where 
sat  a  portly  man  and  a  beautiful  young  woman,  richly 
attired  in  satin  and  jewels.  It  had  cost  her  a  struggle 
to  be  there,  but  she  felt  that  she  must  look  again  on. 
one  whom  she  had  loved  so  much  and  so  deeply 
wronged.  So  she  came,  and  the  sight  of  him  stand 
ing  there  in  his  early  manhood,  his  soft  brown  hair 
clustering  about  his  brow,  and  his  calm,  pale  face  wear 
ing  an  expression  almost  angelic,  was  more  than  she 
could  bear,  and  leaning  forward  she  kept  her  counte 
nance  concealed  from  view  until  the  ceremony  was 
ended,  and  Walter's  clear,  musical  voice  announced  the 
closing  hymn.  Then  she  raised  her  head,  and  her  face, 
seen  through  the  folds  of  her  costly  veil,  looked  hag 
gard  and  ghastly,  as  if  a  fierce  storm  of  passion  had 
swept  over  her.  By  the  door  she  paused,  and  when 
the  newly-ordained  clergyman  passed  out,  she  offered 
him  her  hand,  the  hand  which,  when  he  held  it  last, 
was  pledged  to  him.  There  were  diamonds  on  it  now 
• — diamonds  of  value  rare,  but  their  brightness  was 
hateful  to  that  wretched  woman,  for  she  knew  at  what 
a  fearful  price  they  had  been  bought. 

They  did  not  meet  again,  and  only  once  more  did 
Walter  see  her ;  then,  from  our  door,  he  looked  out 
upon  her  as  with  her  husband  she  dashed  by  on  horse 
back,  her  long  cloth  skirt  almost  sweeping  the  ground, 
and  the  plumes  of  her  velvet  cap  waving  in  the  air. 

"  Mrs.  Douglass  is  a  fine  rider,"  was  all  Walter  said, 
and  the  tone  of  his  voice  indicated  that  she  was  becom- 


18  DIAMONDS. 

ing  to  him  an  object  of  indifference.  Desperately  had 
he  fought  with  his  affection  for  her,  winning  the  vic 
tory  at  last,  and  now  the  love  he  once  had  felt  for  her 
was  slowly  and  surely  dying  out.  The  next  week,  tiring 
of  our  dull  village  life,  Cora  left  us,  going  to  Nahant, 
where  she  spent  most  of  the  summer,  and  when  in  the 
winter  we  heard  from  her  again,  she  was  a  widow — 
the  sole  heir  of  her  husband  who  had  died  suddenly, 
and  generously  left  her  that  for  which  she  married 
him — his  money. 

"  "Will  Walter  Beaumont  marry  Cora  now  ?  "  I  had 
asked  myself  many  a  time,  without,  however,  arriving 
at  any  definite  conclusion,  when  a  little  more  than  a 
year  succeeding  Mr.  Douglass's  death,  she  wrote,  beg 
ging  me  to  come  to  her,  as  she  was  very  lonely,  and 
the  presence  of  an  old  friend  would  do  her  good.  I 
complied  with  her  request,  and  within  a  few  days  was 
an  inmate  of  her  luxurious  home,  where  everything 
indicated  the  wealth  of  its  possessor.  And  Cora, 
though  robed  in  deepest  black,  was  more  like  herself, 
more  like  the  Cora  of  other  days,  than  I  had  seen  her 
before  since  her  marriage.  Of  her  husband  she  spoke 
freely  and  always  with  respect,  saying  he  had  been 
kinder  far  to  her  than  she  had  deserved.  Of  Walter, 
too,  she  talked,  appearing  much  gratified  when  I  told 
her  how  he  was  loved  and  appreciated  by  his  people. 

One  morning  when  we  sat  together  in  her  little 
sewing  room,  she  said,  "I  have  done  what  you  per 
haps,  will  consider  a  very  unwomanly  act.  I  have 
written  to  Walter  Beaumont.  Look,"  and  she  placed 
in  my  hand  a  letter,  which  she  bade  me  read.  It  was 
a  wild,  strange  thing,  telling  him  of  the  anguish  she 
had  endured,  of  the  tears  she  had  shed,  of  the  love 
which  through  all  she  had  cherished  for  him,  and  beg- 


DIAMONDS.  19 

ging  of  him  to  forgive  her  if  possible,  and  be  to  her 
again  what  he  had  been  years  ago.  She  was  not 
worthy  of  him,  she  said,  but  he  could  make  her  better, 
aud  in  language  the  most  touching,  she  besought  of 
him  not  to  cast  her  off,  or  despise  her  because  she  had 
stepped  so  far  aside  from  womanly  delicacy  as  to  write 
to  him  this  letter.  "  I  will  not  insult  you,"  she  wrote 
in  conclusion,  "  by  telling  you  of  the  money  for  which 
I  sold  myself,  but  it  is  mine  now,  lawfully  mine,  and 
most  gladly  would  I  share  it  with  you." 

"  You  will  not  send  him  this  ?  "  I  said.  "  You  can 
not  be  in  earnest  ?  " 

But  she  was  determined,  and  lest  her  resolution 
should  give  way,  she  rang  the  bell,  ordering  the  serv 
ant  who  appeared  to  take  it  at  once  to  the  office.  He 
obeyed,  and  during  the  day  she  was  unusually  gay, 
singing  snatches  of  old  songs,  and  playing  several 
lively  airs  upon  her  piano,  which  for  months  had  stood 
unopened  and  untouched.  That  evening,  as  the  sun 
went  down,  and  the  full  moon  rose  over  the  city,  she 
asked  me  to  walk  with  her,  and  we,  ere  long,  found 
ourselves  several  streets  distant  from  that  in  which  she 
lived.  Groups  of  people  were  entering  a  church  near 
by,  and  from  a  remark  which  we  overheard,  we  learned 
that  there  was  to  be  a  wedding. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  she  said,  "  it  may  be  some  one  I 
know,"  and  entering  together,  we  took  our  seats  just 
in  front  of  the  altar. 

Scarcely  were  we  seated  when  a  rustling  of  satin  an 
nounced  the  approach  of  the  bridal  party,  and  in  a  mo 
ment  they  appeared  moving  slowly  up  the  aisle.  My 
first  attention  was  directed  toward  the  bride,  a  beauti 
ful  young  creature,  with  a  fair  sweet  face,  and  curls  of 
golden  hair  falling  over  her  white,  uncovered  neck. 


20  DIAMONDS. 

"  Isn't  she  lovely  ? "  I  whispered  ;  but  Cora  did  not 
hear  me. 

With  her  hands  locked  tightly  together,  her  lips 
firmly  compressed,  and  her  cheeks  of  an  ashen  hue,  she 
was  gazing  fixedly  at  the  bridegroom,  on  whom  I,  too, 
now  looked,  starting  quickly,  for  it  was  our  minister, 
Walter  Beaumont !  The  words  were  few  which  made 
them  one,  Walter  and  the  young  girl  at  his  side,  and 
when  the  ceremony  was  over,  Cora  arose,  and  leaning 
heavily  upon  my  arm,  went  out  into  the  open  air,  and 
on  through  street  after  street,  until  her  home  was 
reached.  Then,  without  a  word,  we  parted — I  going 
to  my  room,  while  she,  through  the  live-long  night, 
paced  up  and  down  the  long  parlors  where  no  eye 
could  witness  the  working  of  the  mighty  sorrow  which 
had  come  upon  her. 

The  next  morning  she  was  calm,  but  very,  very  pale, 
saying  not  a  word  of  last  night's  adventure.  Neither 
did  she  speak  of  it  for  several  days,  and  then  she  said, 
rather  abruptly,  "  I  would  give  all  I  possess  if  I  had 
never  sent  that  letter.  The  mortification  is  harder  to 
bear  even  than  Walter's  loss.  But  he  will  not  tell  of 
it,  I'm  sure.  He  is  too  good — too  noble,"  and  tears, 
the  first  she  had  shed  since  that  night,  rained  through 
her  thin,  white  fingers.  It  came  at  last — a  letter  bear 
ing  Walter's  superscription,  and  with  trembling  hands 
she  opened  it,  finding,  as  she  expected,  his  wedding 
card,  while  on  a  tiny  sheet  was  written,  "  God  pity 
you,  Cora,  even  as  I  do — WALTER." 

"  Walter !  Walter !  "  she  whispered,  and  her  quivering 
lips  touched  once  the  loved  name  which  she  was  never 
heard  to  breathe  again. 

From  that  day  Cora  Douglass  faded,  and  when  the 
autumnal  days  were  come,  and  the  distant  hills  were 


DIAMONDS.  21 

bathed  in  the  hazy  October  light,  she  died.  But  not 
in  the  noisy  city,  for  she  had  asked  to  be  taken  home, 
and  in  the  pleasant  room  where  we  had  often  sat  to 
gether,  she  bade  me  her  last  good-by.  They  buried 
her  on  the  Sabbath,  and  Walter's  voice  was  sad  and 
low  as  with  Cora's  coffin  at  his  feet  he  preached  from 
the  words,  "  I  am  the  Eesurrection  and  the  Life." 
His  young  wife,  too,  wept  over  the  early  dead,  who 
had  well-nigh  been  her  rival,  and  whose  beautiful  face 
wore  a  calm,  peaceful  smile,  as  if  she  were  at  rest. 

There  was  a  will,  they  said,  and  in  it  Walter  was 
generously  remembered,  while  to  his  wife  was  given 
an  ivory  box,  containing  Cora's  diamonds — necklace, 
bracelets,  pin  and  ear-rings — all  were  there;  and 
Walter,  as  he  looked  upon  them,  drew  nearer  to  him 
his  fair  girl  wife,  who  but  for  these,  might  not,  per 
chance,  have  been  to  him  what  she  was — his  dearest 
earthly  treasure. 


£3  BAD  SPELLING. 


BAD  SPELLING- 


THE  last  notes  of  the  bell  which  duly  summoned  to 
their  task  the  pupils  of  Madame  Duvant's  fashionable 
seminary  had  ceased,  and  in  the  school-room,  recently 
so  silent,  was  heard  the  low  hum  of  voices,  inter 
spersed  occasionally  with  a  suppressed  titter  from 
some  girl  more  mischievous  than  her  companions. 
Very  complacently  Madame  Duvant  looked  over  the 
group  of  young  faces,  mentally  estimating  the  probable 
gain  she  should  receive  from  each,  for  this  was  the 
first  day  of  the  term,  then  with  a  few  low-spoken 
words  to  the  row  of  careivorn,  pale-faced  teachers,  she 
smoothed  down  the  folds  of  her  heavy  gray  satin  and 
left  the  room,  just  as  a  handsome  traveling-carriage 
stopped  before  the  door. 

The  new  arrival  proved  to  be  a  fashionably-dressed 
woman,  who,  with  an  air  of  extreme  hauteur,  swept 
into  the  parlor,  followed  by  two  young  girls,  one 
apparently  sixteen  and  the  other  fourteen  years  of  age. 
The  younger  and,  as  some  would  call  her,  the  plainer 
looking  of  the  two,  was  unmistakably  a  "  poor  relation," 
for  her  face  bore  the  meek,  patient  look  of  a  dependent, 
while  the  proud  black  eyes  and  scornfully  curved  lip 
of  the  other,  marked  her  as  the  daughter  of  the  lady, 
who  after  glancing  about  the  room  and  satisfying 
herself  that  the  chairs,  tables,  and  so  forth,  were 


BAD  SPELLING.  23 

refined,  gave  her  name  as  "  Mrs.  Greenleaf,  wife  of 
the  Hon.  Mr.  Greenleaf,  of  Herkimer  Co.,  N.  Y." 

"  I  have  coine,"  said  she,  apparently  speaking  to 
Madame  Duvant,  but  looking  straight  at  the  window, 
"  I've  come  to  place  my  daughter  Arabella  under  your 
charge,  and  if  she  is  pleased  with  your  discipline,  she 
will  finish  her  education  here — graduate — though  I  care 
but  little  for  that,  except  that  it  sounds  well.  She  is 
our  only  child,  and,  of  course,  a  thorough  education  in 
the  lower  English  branches  is  not  at  all  necessary.  I 
wish  her  to  be  highly  accomplished  in  French,  Italian, 
music,  drawing,  painting,  dancing,  and,  perhaps,  learn 
something  of  the  old  poets,  so  as  to  be  able  to  talk 
about  them  a  little,  if  necessary,  but  as  for  the  other 
branches,  such  as  geography,  history,  arithmetic, 
grammar,  and  the  like,  she  can  learn  them  by  herself, 
and  it  is  not  my  wish  that  she  should  waste  her  time 
over  anything  so  common.  These  will  do  for  Mildred," 
and  she  glanced  toward  the  poor  relation,  whose  eyes 
were  bent  upon  the  carpet. 

"  She  is  the  child  of  my  husband's  sister,  and  we 
have  concluded  to  educate  her  for  a  teacher,  so  I  wish 
you  to  be  very  thorough  with  her  in  all  those  stupid 
things  which  Arabella  is  not  to  study." 

Madame  Duvant  bowed,  and  Mrs.  Greenleaf  con 
tinued,  "  Last  term  they  were  at  Bloomington  Semin 
ary,  and,  if  you'll  believe  it,  the  principal  insisted  upon 
putting  Arabella  into  the  spelling-class,  just  because 
she  didn't  chance  to  spell  every  word  of  her  first  com 
position  correctly !  I  dare  say  it  was  more  Mildred's 
fault  than  hers,  for  she  acknowledged  to  me  that  'twas 
one  of  Mildred's  old  pieces  that  she  found  and  copied." 

An  angry  flash  of  Arabella's  large  black  eyes,  and 
a  bright  red  spot  on  Mildred's  cheek,  were  the  only 


24  BAD  SPELLING. 

emotions  manifested  by  the  young  girls,  and  Mrs. 
Greenleaf  proceeded :  "  Of  course,  I  wouldn't  submit 
to  it — my  daughter  spelling  baker,  and  all  that  non 
sense,  so  I  took  her  away  at  once.  It  was  my  wish 
that  Mildred  should  remain,  but  husband,  who  is 
peculiar,  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  and  said  she  should  go 
where  Arabella  did,  so  I've  brought  them  both." 

After  little  further  conversation,  it  was  arranged 
that  Miss  Arabella  should  go  through  a  course  of 
merely  fashionable  accomplishments,  Madame  Duvant 
assuring  her  mother  that  neither  spelling-book  nor 
dictionary  should  in  any  way  annoy  her.  Mildred,  on 
the  contrary,  was  to  be  thoroughly  drilled  in  every 
thing  necessary  for  a  teacher  to  know,  Mrs.  Greenleaf 
hinting  that  the  sooner  her  education  was  completed 
the  better  she  would  be  pleased,  for  it  cost  a  great  deal 
to  clothe,  feed  and  school  her.  Madame  Duvant  prom 
ised  to  execute  the  wishes  of  her  patron,  who  gath 
ered  up  her  flowing  robes,  and  with  a  dozen  or  more 
kisses  for  her  daughter,  and  a  nod  of  her  head  for 
Mildred,  stepped  into  her  carriage  and  was  driven 

rapidly  away. 

*  #•  *  #  *  •*  * 

Just  across  the  spacious  grounds  of  the  Duvant 
Seminary,  and  divided  from  them  by  a  wall  which  it 
seemed  almost  impossible  to  scale,  stood  a  huge  stone 
building,  whose  hacked  walls,  bare  floors  and  dingy 
windows — from  which  were  frequently  suspended  a 
cap,  a  pair  of  trousers,  or  a  boy's  leg — stamped  it  at 
once  as  "  The  College,"  the  veriest  pest  in  the  world, 
as  Madame  Duvant  called  it,  when,  with  all  the  vigi 
lance  both  of  herself  and  Argus-eyed  teachers,  she 
failed  to  keep  her  young  ladies  from  making  the 
acquaintance  of  the  students,  who  winked  at  them  in 


BAD  SPELLING.  25 

church,  bowed  to  them  in  the  streets,  tied  notes  to 
stones  and  threw  them  over  the  ponderous  wall,  while 
the  girls  waved  their  handkerchiefs  from  their  windows, 
and  in  various  other  ways  eluded  the  watchfulness  of 
their  teachers.  A  great  acquisition  to  the  fun-loving 
members  of  the  seminary  was  Arabella  Greenleaf,  and 
she  had  scarcely  been  there  six  weeks  ere  she  was  per 
fectly  well  acquainted  with  every  student  whom  she 
considered  at  all  worth  knowing.  But  upon  only  one 
were  her  brightest  glances  and  her  most  winsome 
smiles  lavished,  and  that  was  George  Clayton,  a  young 
man  from  South  Carolina,  who  was  said  to  be  very 
wealthy.  He  was  too  honorable  to  join  in  the  in 
trigues  of  his  companions,  and  when  at  last  he  be 
came  attracted  by  the  witching  eyes  and  dashing  man 
ners  of  Arabella  Greenleaf,  he  went  boldly  to  Madame 
Duvant  and  asked  permission  to  see  the  young  lady 
in  the  parlor. 

His  request  was  granted,  and  during  the  two  years 
he  remained  at  college,  he  continued  occasionally  to 
call  upon  Arabella,  who,  each  time  that  he  saw  her, 
seemed  more  pleasing,  for  she  was  beautiful,  and  when 
she  chose  to  be  so  was  very  courteous  and  agreeable. 
One  evening  when  George  called  as  usual  and  asked  to 
see  her,  he  waited  a  long  time,  and  was  about  making 
up  his  mind  to  leave,  when  a  fair,  delicate  looking  girl, 
with  deep  blue  eyes  and  auburn  hair,  entered  the  room, 
introducing  herself  as  Miss  Graham,  the  cousin  of 
Arabella,  who,  she  said,  was  indisposed  and  unable  to 
come  down. 

"  She  bade  me  say  that  she  was  very  sorry  not  to 
see  you,"  added  Mildred,  for  she  it  was,  blushing  deeply 
as  she  met  the  eager,  admiring  eye  of  George  Clayton. 

Gladly  would  he  have  detained  her,  but  with  a  po- 


26  BAD  SPELLING. 

lite  good  evening,  she  left  him  in  a  perfect  state  of 
bewilderment.  "  Strange  that  I  never  observed  her 
before,  for  I  must  have  seen  her  often,"  he  thought,  as 
he  slowly  wended  his  way  back  to  his  rooms,  "  and 
stranger  still  that  Arabella  never  told  ine  she  had  a 
cousin  here." 

The  next  time  he  met  Arabella  his  first  inquiry  was 
for  her  cousin,  and  why  she  had  never  mentioned  her. 
"With  a  heightened  color  Arabella  answered,  "  Oh,  she's 
a  little  body,  who  never  cares  to  be  known — a  perfect 
bookworm  and  man-hater." 

The  words  bookworm  and  man-hater  produced  upon 
George  Clayton  a  far  different  effect  from  what  Ara 
bella  had  intended,  and  he  often  found  himself  think 
ing  of  the  soft  blue  eyes  of  Mildred  Graham.  Unlike 
some  men,  there  was  nothing  terrible  to  him  in  a  bookish 
woman,  and  he  might,  perhaps,  have  sought  another 
interview  with  Mildred,  but  for  a  circumstance  which 
threw  her  entirely  in  the  shade. 

The  annual  examination  of  Madame  Duvant's  semi 
nary  was  drawing  near.  Arabella  was  to  graduate, 
while  both  she  and  Mildred  were  competitors  for  a 
prize  offered  for  the  best  composition.  There  was  a 
look  of  wonder  on  Mildred's  face,  when  she  saw  her 
cousin's  name  among  the  list,  for  composition  was 
something  in  which  Arabella  did  not  excel.  Greatly 
then  did  Mildred  marvel  when  day  after  day  she  found 
her,  pencil  in  hand,  and  apparently  lost  in  thought,  as 
she  filled  one  sheet  after  another,  until  at  last  it  was 
done. 

"  Now,  Milly,"  said  Arabella,  "  You  correct  the 
spelling  and  copy  it  for  me — that's  a  good  girl." 

Mildred  had  acted  in  this  capacity  too  often  to  refuse, 
and  with  a  martyr's  patience,  she  corrected  and  copied 


BAD  SPELLING.  27 

the  manuscript,  wondering  the  while  from  whence 
came  the  sudden  inspiration  which  had  so  brightened 
Arabella's  ideas.  But  if  she  had  any  suspicions  of  the 
truth  she  kept  them  to  herself,  handing  her  own  com 
position  in  with  that  of  her  cousin,  and  calmly  waiting 

the  result. 

*  ****** 

The  examination  was  over.  Arabella,  who  knew 
exactly  what  questions  would  be  put  to  her,  had  ac 
quitted  herself  with  great  credit,  and  her  proud  lady 
mother,  who  was  one  of  the  numerous  visitors,  fanned 
herself  complacently  as  she  heard  on  all  sides  the 
praises  of  her  daughter. 

And  now  nothing  remained  but  the  evening  exhibi 
tion,  at  which  music  and  the  prize  compositions  formed 
the  chief  entertainment.  At  an  early  hour  the  large 
schoolrooms  were  densely  crowded.  Among  the  first 
who  came  was  George  Clayton — securing  a  seat  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  stage,  so  that  he  should  not  lose 
a  single  word.  He  himself  had  graduated  but  two 
weeks  previously,  and  was  now  about  to  make  the  tour 
of  Europe  together  with  his  father,  who  was  present. 
They  were  to  sail  the  next  night,  and  at  nine  o'clock 
this  evening  they  were  to  leave  for  New  York.  During 
the  examination  Arabella  had  risen  greatly  in  George's 
estimation,  and  if  she  had  seemed  beautiful  to  him 
then,  she  was  tenfold  more  so  now,  when,  with  flowing 
curls  and  simple  white  muslin  dress,  she  tripped  grace 
fully  across  the  stage,  and  seating  herself  at  the  piano, 
played  and  sang  with  exquisite  skill  the  well  known 
song  entitled,  "  No  More,  Never  More." 

Then  followed  the  reading  of  the  compositions,  Mil 
dred  being  called  upon  first.  In  a  clear  and  peculiarly 
sweet  voice  she  read,  chaining  to  perfect  silence  her 


28  BAD  SPELLING. 

audience,  which,  when  she  was  done,  greeted  her  with 
noisy  cheers,  whispering  one  to  another  that  she  was 
sure  to  win.  Arabella,  at  her  own  request,  was  the 
last.  With  proud,  flashing  eyes  and  queenly  air,  she 
coolly  surveyed  the  mass  of  heads  before  her,  caught  an 
admiring  glance  from  George  Clayton,  and  then,  with 
a  steady  hand  unrolled  her  manuscript  and  read.  Her 
subject  was  "  The  Outward  and  the  Inward  Life,"  and 
no  gray-haired  sage  ever  handled  it  more  skilfully  than 
she.  When  she  finished  one  universal  burst  of  applause 
shook  the  building  to  its  center,  while  her  name  was 
on  every  lip  as  she  triumphantly  left  the  room.  Just 
then  a  distant  bell  struck  the  hour  of  nine,  and  George 
Clayton  arose  to  go.  He  was  sure  of  Arabella's  success, 
and  in  the  hall  below,  whither  she  had  gone  to  bid  him 
adieu,  he  shook  her  hand  warmly,  telling  her  how 
happy  it  made  him  to  see  her  thus  victorious,  and  win 
ning  from  her  a  promise  to  write  to  him  when  he 
should  be  over  the  sea. 

Half  an  hour  later  and  the  night  express  was  bearing 
him  far  away.  Half  an  hour  later,  and  with  flushed 
brow  Arabella  stood  up  and  received  the  prize,  which 
consisted  of  two  elegantly  bound  volumes  of  Words 
worth  and  Coleridge. 

Forty  minutes  later,  and  from  the  seat  by  the  door,  a 
little  bent,  weird-looking  woman  arose,  and  making 
her  way  though  the  crowd,  advanced  until  she  stood 
upon  the  stage,  than  stretching  her  long,  bony  finger 
toward  Arabella,  who  had  returned,  she  said,  "  I  am 
a  lover  of  justice,  and  should  I  hold  my  peace,  the 
very  stones  would  cry  out  against  me.  Yonder  young 
lady  has  no  right  to  the  prize,  for  the  piece  which  she 
has  palmed  off  as  her  own  appeared  in  the  Woodland 
Gazette,  a  paper  published  in  an  obscure  New  Hamp- 


BAD  SPELLING.  29 

shire  village  .  How  she  came  by  it,  she  can,  perhaps, 
explain,  but  I  cannot." 

At  the  commencement  of  this  strange  speech,  Ara 
bella  arose  as  if  to  defy  the  woman,  who  was  thus 
blasting  her  good  name,  but  at  the  mention  of  the 
^Woodland  Gazette  she  fainted  and  was  carried  from 
the  room.  Madame  Duvant  now  came  forward  and 
addressed  a  few  low-spoken  words  to  the  woman,  who 
answered  aloud,  "  I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  what 
I  have  said.  My  son,  who  lives  in  New  Hampshire, 
occasionally  sends  me  the  Gazette,  and  in  one  number, 
which  came  nearly  a  year  ago,  appeared  this  very  arti 
cle,  taken  originally  from  an  old  English  paper." 

"  Prove  it !  Produce  the  paper  !  "  fiercely  ejaculated 
Mrs.  Greenleaf,  as  she  left  the  room  in  quest  of  her 
daughter. 

"  I  can  do  so,"  answered  the  woman  ;  "  I  never  tore 
up  a  newspaper  in  my  life,  and  if  the  audience  will  wait 
for  the  space  of  ten  minutes,  I  can  show  them  the  very 
article  " — saying  which  she  glided  noiselessly  from  the 
room. 

She  was  a  strange,  half-crazy  old  creature,  of  wonder 
ful  memory,  who  occupied  a  small  cottage  in  the  sub 
urbs  of  the  village,  and  many  doubts  were  expressed 
as  to  the  veracity  of  her  statement.  But  these  were 
soon  put  to  flight  by  her  reappearance.  Unfolding  the 
the  dingy  yellow  paper,  she  read  aloud  to  her  aston 
ished  hearers  the  article  which  proved  to  have  been 
taken  from  the  London  Examiner.  There  was  now 
no  longer  a  shadow  of  doubt  and  the  prize  was  with 
drawn  from  the  treacherous  Arabella,  and  as  Mildred's 
composition  was  pronounced  the  next  in  order,  it  was 
bestowed  upon  her. 

Mortified,  indignant  and  almost  frantic  at  this  public 


SO  BAB  SPELLING. 

disgrace,  Arabella  finally  confessed  to  having  stolen 
the  piece  from  a  paper  sent  her  some  months  before  by 
a  former  schoolmate.  The  next  morning  she  left  the 
village,  heaping  her  pent-up  wrath  upon  the  head  of 
her  innocent  cousin,  who  was  destined  in  more  ways 

than  one  to  rival  her. 

****** 

Three  months  had  passed  away  since  the  night  of 
the  exhibition,  and  in  a  private  parlor  at  a  London 
hotel  sat  George  Clayton,  rather  impatiently  awaiting 
the  return  of  his  servant  from  the  post-office.  As  yet  he 
had  received  no  letter  from  Arabella,  for  though  she 
had  written  it  had  failed  to  reach  him,  and  while  he  in 
the  Old  World  was  marveling  at  her  long  delay,  she 
in  the  New  was  wondering  why  he  did  not  answer. 
The  mortification  which  she  had  endured  affected  her 
deeply,  bringing  on  at  last  a  slow  fever,  which  con  fined 
her  to  her  bed,  where  for  weeks  she  lay,  carefully  at 
tended  by  Mildred,  who  once,  when  she  complained  of 
George's  neglect,  suggested  the  possibility  of  his  not 
having  received  the  letter.  This  was  a  new  idea  to 
Arabella,  and  as  she  was  herself  unable  to  write,  he 
persuaded  Mildred  to  do  it  for  her,  and  strange  to  say, 
the  two  letters  reached  their  destination  at  the  same 
time. 

With  eager  haste  George  took  them  from  his  servant, 
who  went  out  leaving  him  alone.  The  handwriting 
of  both  was  not  alike,  and  in  some  trepidation  the 
young  man  broke  the  seal  of  the  one  bearing  the  more 
recent  date.  It  was  beautifully  written,  and  mentally 
complimenting  the  fair  writer,  George  opened  the 
other,  uttering  an  exclamation  of  surprise  ere  he  had 
read  a  dozen  lines.  It  was  a  sickly,  sentimental  affair, 
taken  partly  from  an  old  letter-writer,  and  containing 


BAD  SPELLING.  31 

many  highflown  sentences  concerning  the  "pearling 
rill"  the  "  silverey  starlite "  and  the  "  rozy  morn," 
which,  being  spelled  as  they  were,  presented  a  most 
formidable  aspect  to  the  fastidious  young  man. 

Although  Arabella  had  taken  much  pains  with  her  let 
ter,  at  least  one-fourth  of  the  words  were  misspelt,  and 
by  the  time  George  had  finished  reading,  he  enter 
tained  no  other  feeling  toward  the  writer  than  one  of 
disgust,  to  think  that,  with  all  her  showy  accomplish 
ments,  she  had  neglected  what  to  him  was  the  most 
important  of  all,  for  in  nothing  is  the  ignorance  of  a 
young  lady  more  apparent  than  in  a  badly-spelled 
letter.  It  was  a  long  time  ere  he  answered  it,  and 
then  the  few  lines  which  he  wrote  were  so  cold,  so 
different  from  his  first,  that  in  a  fit  of  anger  Arabella 
tossed  it  into  the  fire,  repenting  the  act  the  moment 
after,  and,  as  if  to  make  amends,  writing  in  return  a  long 
letter,  to  which  there  came  no  response,  and  thus  the 
correspondence  ended. 

Eighteen  months  later,  and  again  Madame  Duvant's 
rooms  were  crowded  to  overflowing,  but  this  time  Ara 
bella  Greenleaf  was  not  there,  though  George  Clayton, 
was,  eagerly  watching  each  word  and  movement  of 
Mildred  Graham,  whose  uncle  had  insisted  upon  her 
remaining  at  school  until  she,  too,  should  graduate,  and 
who  now,  justly,  received  the  highest  honors  of  her 
class.  Yery  beautifully  looked  the  young  girl,  and  as  she 
modestly  received  the  compliments  of  her  friends 
George  Clayton's  was  not  the  only  admiring  eye  which 
rested  upon  her,  for  many  now  paid  her  homage. 

That  night  George  asked  to  see  her  alone.  His  re 
quest  was  granted,  and  when  next  she  parted  from  him 
it  was  as  his  betrothed.  Immediately  after  George's 
return  from  Europe,  he  had  heard  the  story  of  Ara- 


32  BAD  SPELLING. 

bella's  perfidy,  and  if  no  other  circumstances  had  inter 
posed  to  wean  him  from  her  entirely,  this  alone  would 
have  done  it,  for  he  could  not  respect  a  woman  who 
would  thus  meanly  stoop  to  deception.  He  had  lin 
gered  in  G —  —  for  the  purpose  of  renewing  his 
former  acquaintance  with  Mildred,  the  result  of  which 
we  have  seen. 

Mortified  beyond  measure  Arabella  heard  of  her  cou 
sin's  engagement,  and  when  George  came  at  last  to 
claim  his  bride,  she  refused  to  see  him,  wilfully  absent 
ing  herself  from  home  that  she  should  not  witness  the 
bridal,  which  took  place  one  bright  October  morning, 
when  the  forest-trees,  as  if  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  were 
dressed  in  their  most  gorgeous  robes,  and  the  birds 
were  singing  their  farewell  songs. 

New  misfortunes,  however,  awaited  poor  Arabella, 
for  scarcely  was  Mildred  gone  to  her  southern  home 
when  the  red  flag  of  the  auctioneer  waved  from  the 
windows  of  Mr.  Greenleaf's  luxurious  house,  which, 
with  its  costly  furniture,  was  sold  to  the  highest  bid 
der,  and  the  family  were  left  dependent  upon  their 
own  exertions  for  support.  When  the  first  shock  was 
over,  Mr.  Greenleaf  proposed  that  his  daughter  should 
teach,  and  thus  bring  into  use  her  boasted  accomplish 
ments.  For  a  time  Arabella  refused,  but  hearing  at 
last  of  a  situation  which  she  thought  might  please  her, 
she  applied  for  it  by  letter.  But  alas,  the  mistake  she 
made  when  she  abandoned  the  spelling-book  for  the 
piano,  again  stood  in  the  way,  for  no  one  would  employ 
a  teacher  so  lamentably  ignorant  of  orthography.  Nor 
is  it  at  all  probable  she  will  ever  rise  higher  than  her 
present  position — that  of  a.  plain  sewer — until  she  goes 
back  to  first  principles,  and  commences  again  the  de 
spised  column  beginning  with  "  laker  !  " 


MAGGIE  LEE.  83 


MAGGIE  LEE. 


THE  usually  quiet  little  village  of  Ellerton  was,  one 
June  morning,  thrown  into  a  state  of  great  excitement 
by  the  news  that  the  large  stone  building  on  the  hill, 
which,  for  several  years  had  been  shut  up,  was  at  last 
to  have  an  occupant,  and  that  said  occupant  was  no 
less  a  personage  than  its  owner,  Graham  Thornton, 
who,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-eight,  had  been  chosen 
to  fill  the  responsible  office  of  judge  of  the  county. 
"Weary  of  city  life,  and  knowing  that  a  home  in  the 
country  would  not  materially  interfere  with  the  dis 
charge  of  his  new  duties,  particularly  as  Ellerton  was 
within  half  an  hour's  ride  of  the  city,  3roung  Thornton 
had  conceived  the  idea  of  fitting  up  the  old  stone  house, 
bequeathed  to  him  by  his  grandfather,  in  a  style  suited 
to  his  abundant  means  and  luxurious  taste.  Accord 
ingly,  for  several  weeks,  the  people  of  Ellerton  were 
kept  in  a  constant  state  of  anxiety,  watching,  wonder 
ing  and  guessing,  especially  Miss  Olivia  Macey,  who 
kept  a  small  store  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and 
whose  fertile  imagination  supplied  whatever  her  neigh 
bors  lacked  in  actual  knowledge  of  the  proceedings  at 
"  Greystone  Hall,"  as  Judge  Thornton  called  his  place 
of  residence. 

At  last,  everything  was  completed,  and  the  day  ap 
pointed  for  the  arrival  of  the  Judge,  who,  disliking  con,- 


?A  MAGGIE  LEE. 

fusion,  had  never  once  been  near  his  house,  but,  after 
a  few  general  directions,  had  left  the  entire  arrange 
ment  of  the  building  and  grounds  to  the  management 
of  one  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  connoisseur  in  such 
matters.  As  was  very  natural,  a  great  deal  of  curi 
osity  was  felt  concerning  the  arrival  of  the  distin 
guished  stranger,  and  as  his  mother,  a  proud,  stately 
woman,  was  to  accompany  him,  Miss  Olivia  Macey, 
who  boasted  of  having  once  been  a  schoolmate  of  the 
haughty  lady,  resolved  upon  meeting  them  at  the 
depot,  thinking  she  should  thereby  show  them  proper 
respect. 

"  So  Maggie,"  said  she  to  her  niece,  a  dark-haired, 
white-browed  girl  of  fifteen,  who,  at  noon,  came 
bounding  in  from  school,  "  so  Maggie,  you  must  watch 
the  store,  for  there's  no  knowing  how  long  I  shall  be 
gone.  Mrs.  Thornton  may  ask  me  home  with  her,  and 
it  would  not  be  polite  to  refuse." 

For  an  instant  Maggie's  dark  brown  eyes  danced 
with  mischief  as  she  thought  how  improbable  it  was 
that  the  lofty  Mrs.  Thornton  would  seek  to  renew  her 
acquaintance  with  one  in  Miss  Macey's  humble  position, 
but  the  next  moment  they  filled  with  tears,  and  she 
said,  "  Oh,  aunt;  must  I  stay  from  school  again  ?  It  is 
the  third  time  within  a  week.  I  never  shall  know 
anything !  " 

u  Never  mind,  Mag,"  shouted  little  Ben,  tossing  his 
cap  across  the  room  and  helping  himself  to  the  largest 
piece  of  pie  upon  the  dinner-table.  "  Never  mind.  I'll 
stay  with  you,  for  I  don't  like  to  go  to  school  any  way. 
And  we'll  get  our  lessons  at  home." 

Maggie  knew  how  useless  it  would  be  to  argue  the 
point,  so  with  a  dejected  air  she  seated  herself  at  the 
open  window  and  silently  watched  her  aunt  until  she 


MAGGIE  LEE.  35 

disappeared  in  the  distance — then  taking  up  her  book, 
she  tried  to  study,  but  could  not,  for  the  heavy  pain  at 
her  heart  which  kept  whispering  of  injustice  done  to 
her,  unconsciously,  perhaps,  by  the  only  mother  she 
had  ever  known.  Very  dear  to  Miss  Macey  were  the 
orphan  children  of  her  only  sister,  and  faithfully  did 
she  strive  to  fulfil  her  trust,  but  she  could  not  conceal 
her  partiality  for  fun-loving,  curly -haired  Ben,  nor  the 
fact  that  the  sensitive  and  ambitious  Maggie,  who 
thirsted  for  knowledge,  was  wholly  unappreciated  and 
misunderstood.  Learning — learning  was  what  Maggie 
craved,  and  she  sat  there  alone  that  bright  June  after 
noon,  holding  upon  her  lap  the  head  of  her  sleeping 
brother,  and  watching  the  summer  shadows  as  they 
chased  each  other  over  the  velvety  grass  in  the  meadow 
beyond,  she  wondered  if  it  would  ever  be  thus  with 
her — would  there  never  come  a  time  when  she  could 
pursue  her  studies  undisturbed,  and  then,  as  she  thought 
that  this  day  made  her  fifteen  years  of  age,  her  mind 
went  forward  to  the  future,  and  she  said  aloud — "  Yes 
— three  years  from  to-day  and  I  shall  be  free — free  as 
the  air  I  breathe  ! " 

But  why  that  start,  sweet  Maggie  Lee  ?  "Why  that 
involuntary  shudder  as  you  think  of  the  long  three 
years  from  now?  She  cannot  tell,  but  the  shadows 
deepen  on  her  fair,  girlish  face,  and  leaning  her  brow 
upon  her  hand,  she  thinks  long  and  earnestly  of  what 
the  three  years  may  bring.  A  footstep  on  the  floor — 
the  first  which  has  fallen  there  that  afternoon — and 
Maggie  looks  up  to  see  before  her  a  tall,  fine-looking 
man,  who,  the  moment  his  eye  fell  upon  her,  checked 
the  whistle,  intended  for  his  dog,  which  was  trembling 
on  his  lip,  and  lifting  his  hat  deferentially,  he  asked  if 
"  this  were  Miss  Macey's  store  ?  " 


36  MAGGIE  LEE. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Maggie,  and  laying  Bennie 
gently  down,  she  went  round  behind  the  counter,  while 
the  young  man,  gazing  curiously  at  her,  continued, 
"  You  surely  are  not  Miss  Macey  ?  " 

There  was  a  most  comical  expression  in  the  brown 
eyes  which  met  the  black  ones  of  the  stranger,  as  Maggie 
answered,  "  N"o  sir,  I  am  nobody  but  Maggie  Lee.  " 

There  must  have  been  something  attractive  either 
in  the  name  or  the  little  maiden  who  bore  it,  for  long 
after  the  gentleman  had  received  the  articles  for  which 
he  came,  he  lingered,  asking  the  young  girl  numberless 
questions  and  playing  with  little  Ben,  who,  now  wide 
awake,  met  his  advances  more  than  half  way,  and  was 
on  perfectly  familiar  terms  both  with  the  stranger  and 
the  dog  Ponto,  who  had  stretched  his  shaggy  length 
before  the  door. 

"  Mag  cries,  she  does,  when  Aunt  Livy  makes  her 
stay  home  from  school, "  said  Ben,  at  last,  beginning 
to  feel  neglected  and  wishing  to  attract  attention. 

Showing  his  white,  handsome  teeth,  the  gentleman 
playfully  smoothed  the  silken  curls  of  little  Ben,  and 
turning  to  the  blushing  Maggie,  asked  "  if  she  were 
fond  of  books  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  love  them  so  much,"  was  the  frank,  impulsive 
answer,  and  ere  ten  minutes  had  passed  away,  Judge 
Thornton,  for  he  it  was,  understood  Maggie's  character 
as  well  as  if  he  had  known  her  a  lifetime. 

Books,  poetry,  music,  paintings,  flowers,  she  wor 
shiped  them  all,  and  without  the  slightest  means  either 
of  gratifying  her  taste. 

"  I  have  in  my  library  many  choice  books,  to  which 
you  are  welcome  at  any  time  when  you  will  call  at 
Greystone  Hall,"  the  stranger  said  at  last. 

"  Greystone  Hall ! "   gasped  Maggie,  the  little  red 


MAGGIE  LEE.  37 

spots  coming  out  all  over  her  neck  and  face — "  Grey- 
stone  Hall ! — then  you  must  be — 

"  Judge  Thornton,  and  your  friend  hereafter,"  an 
swered  the  gentleman,  offering  his  hand  and  bidding 
her  good-by. 

There  are  moments  which  leave  their  impress  upon 
one's  lifetime,  changing  instantaneously,  as  it  were, 
our  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  such  an  one  had  come 
to  Maggie  Lee,  who  was  roused  from  a  deep  reverie 
by  the  shrill  voice  of  her  aunt,  exclaiming,  "  Well,  I've 
been  on  a  Torn-fool's  errand  once  in  my  life.  Here 
I've  waited  in  that  hot  depot  over  two  trains,  and 
heard  at  the  last  minute  that  Mrs.  Thornton  and  her 
son  came  up  last  night,  and  I  hain't  seen  them  after 
all.  It's  too  bad." 

Very  quietly  Maggie  told  of  the  judge's  call,  repeat 
ing  all  the  particulars  of  the  interview  ;  then  stealing 
away  to  her  chamber,  she  thought  again,  wondering 
where  and  what  she  would  be  three  years  from  that 
day. 


A  year  has  passed  away,  and  Graham  Thornton, 
grown  weary  of  his  duties,  has  resigned  the  office  of 
judge,  and  turned  school-teacher,  so  the  gossiping 
villagers  say,  and  with  some  degree  of  truth,  for  regu 
larly  each  day  Maggie  Lee  and  Ben  go  up  to  Grey- 
stone  Hall,  where  they  recite  their  lessons  to  its  owner, 
though  always  in  the  presence  of  its  lady  mistress, 
who  has  taken  a  strange  fancy  to  Maggie  Lee,  and 
whose  white  hand  has  more  than  once  rested  caress 
ingly  on  the  dark,  glossy  hair  of  the  young  girl.  To  a 
casual  observer,  the  Maggie  of  sixteen  is  little  changed 
from  the  Maggie  of  fifteen  years ;  but  to  him,  her 


38  MAGGIE  LEE. 

teacher,  she  is  not  the  same,  for  while  in  some  respects 
she  is  more  a  woman  and  less  a  child,  in  every  thing- 
pertaining  to  himself  she  is  far  more  a  child  than 
when  first  he  met  her  one  short  }^ear  ago.  Then  there 
was  about  her  a  certain  self-reliance,  which  is  now  all 
gone,  and  he  who  has  looked  so  often  into  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  that  childish  heart  knows  he  can  sway 
her  at  his  will. 

"  But  'tis  only  a  girlish  friendship  she  feels  for  him," 
he  says ;  "  only  a  brotherly  interest  he  entertains  for 
her ; "  and  so  clay  after  day  she  comes  to  his  library, 
and  on  a  low  stool,  her  accustomed  seat  at  his  side,  she 
drinks  in  new  inspirations  with  which  to  feed  that 
girlish  friendship,  while  he,  gazing  down  into  her  soft, 
brown,  dreamy  eyes,  feels  more  and  more  how  neces 
sary  to  his  happiness  is  her  daily  presence  there.  And 
if  sometimes  the  man  of  the  world  asks  himself  "  where 
all  this  will  end?"  his  conscience  is  quieted  by  the 
answer  that  Maggie  Lee  merely  feels  toward  him 
as  she  would  toward  any  person  who  had  done  her  a 
like  favor.  So  all  through  the  bright  summer  days 
and  through  the  hazy  autumn  time,  Maggie  dreams  on, 
perfectly  happy,  though  she  knows  not  why,  for  never 
yet  has  a  thought  of  love  for  him  entered  her  soul. 
She  only  knows  that  he  to  her  is  the  dearest,  best  of 
friends,  and  Greystone  Hall  the  loveliest  spot  on  earth, 
but  the  wish  that  she  might  ever  be  its  mistress  has 
never  been  conceived. 

With  the  coming  of  the  holidays  the  lessons  were 
suspended  for  a  time,  for  there  was  to  be  company  at 
the  hall,  and  the  master  would  need  all  his  leisure. 

"  I  shall  miss  you  so  much,"  he  said  to  Maggie,  as  he 
walked  with  her  across  the  fields  which  led  to  her 
humble  home.  "  I  shall  miss  you,  but  the  claims  of 


MAGGIE  LEE.  39 

society  must  be  met,  and  these  ladies  have  long  talked 
of  visiting  us." 

"  Are  they  young  and  handsome  ?  "  Maggie  asked  in 
voluntarily. 

"  Only  one — Miss  Helen  Deane  is  accounted,  a  beauty. 
She  is  an  heiress,  too,  and  the  best  match  in  all  the  city 

of  L ,"   answered  Mr.  Thornton,  more  to  himself 

than  Maggie,  who  at  the  mention  of  Helen  Deane  felt 
a  cold  shadow  folding  itself  around  her  heart. 

Alas,  poor  Maggie  Lee.  The  world  had  long  since 
selected  the  proud  Helen  as  the  future  bride  of  Graham 
Thornton,  who,  as  he  walks  slowly  back  across  the 
snowclad  field,  tramples  upon  the  delicate  footprints 
you  have  made,  and  wishes  it  were  thus  easy  to  blot 
out  from  his  heart  all  memory  of  you !  Poor,  poor 
Maggie  Lee,  Helen  Deane  is  beautiful,  far  more  beauti 
ful  than  you,  and  when  in  her  robes  of  purple  velvet, 
with  her  locks  of  golden  hair  shading  her  soft  eyes  of 
blue,  she  flits  like  a  sunbeam  through  the  spacious 
rooms  of  Greystone  Hall,  waking  their  echoes  with 
her  voice  of  richest  melody,  what  marvel  if  Graham 
Thornton  does  pay  her  homage,  and  reserves  all 
thoughts  of  you  for  the  midnight  hour,  when  the  hall 
is  still  and  Helen's  voice  no  longer  heard  ?  He  is  but 
a  man — a  man,  too,  of  the  world,  and  so,  though  you, 
Maggie  Lee,  are  very  dear  to  him,  he  does  not  think  it 
possible  that  he  can  raise  you  to  his  rank — make  you 
the  honored  mistress  of  his  home,  and  still  lower  him 
self  not  one  iota  from  the  station  he  has  ever  filled. 
And  though  his  mother  loves  you,  too,  'tis  not  with  a 
mother's  love,  and  should  children  ever  climb  her  knee 
calling  her  son  their  sire,  she  would  deem  you  a  gover 
ness  befitting  such  as  thejr,  and  nothing  more.  But  all 
this  Maggie  does  not  know,  and  when  the  visiting  is  over 


40  MAGGIE  LEE. 

and  Helen  Deane  is  gone,  she  goes  back  to  her  old 
place  and  sits  again  at  the  feet  of  Graham  Thornton, 
never  wondering  why  he  seems  so  of  ten  lost  in  thought, 
or  why  he  looks  so  oft  into  her  eyes  of  brown,  trying 
to  read  there  that  he  has  not  wronged  her. 

*  *          *  *          *          *          *• 

Another  year  has  passed,  and  with  the  light  of  the 
full  moon  shining  down  upon  him,  Graham  Thornton 
walks  again  with  Maggie  Lee  across  the  fields  where 
now  the  summer  grass  is  growing.  The  footprints 
in  last  winter's  snow  have  passed  away  just  as  the 
light  will  go  out  from  Maggie's  heart  when  Graham 
Thornton  shall  have  told  the  tale  he  has  come  with  her 
to  tell.  With  quivering  lips  and  bloodless  cheek  she 
listened  while  he  told  her  indifferently,  as  if  it  were  a 
piece  of  news  she  had  probably  heard  before,  that 
when  the  next  full  moon  should  shine  on  Greystone 
Hall,  Helen  Deane  would  be  there — his  bride  ! 

"  This,  of  course,  will  effectually  break  up  our 
pleasant  meetings,"  he  continued,  looking  everywhere 
save  in  Maggie's  face.  "  And  this  I  regret — but  my 
books  are  still  at  your  disposal.  You  will  like  Helen, 
I  think,  and  will  call  on  her  of  course." 

They  had  reached  the  little  gate,  and  taking  Mag 
gie's  hand,  he  would  have  detained  her  for  a  few  more 
parting  words,  but  she  broke  away,  and  in  reply  to  his 
last  question,  hurriedly  answered,  "  Yes,  yes." 

The  next  moment  he  was  alone — alone  in  the  bright 
moonlight.  The  door  was  shut.  There  was  a  barrier 
between  himself  and  Maggie  Lee,  a  barrier  his  own 
hands  had  built,  and  never  again,  so  long  as  he  lived, 
would  Graham  Thornton's  conscience  be  at  rest.  Amid 
all  the  pomp  of  his  bridal  day — at  the  hour  when,  re 
splendent  with  beauty,  Helen  stood  by  his  side  at  the 


MAGGIE  LEE.  41 

holy  altar,  and  breathed  the  vows  which  made  her 
his  forever — amid  the  gay  festivities  which  followed, 
and  the  noisy  mirth  which  for  days  pervaded  his 
home,  there  was  ever  a  still,  small  voice  which  whis 
pered  to  him  of  the  great  wrong  he  had  done  to  Mag 
gie  Lee,  who  never  again  was  seen  at  Greystone  Hall. 

Much  the  elder  Mrs.  Thornton  marveled  at  her  ab 
sence,  and  once  when  her  carriage  was  rolling  past  the 
door  of  the  little  store,  she  bade  her  coachman  stop, 
•while  she  herself  went  in  to  ask  if  her  favorite  were  ill. 
Miss  Olivia's  early  call  at  Greystone  Hall  had  never 
been  returned,  and  now  she  bowed  coldly  and  treated 
her  visitor  with  marked  reserve,  until  she  learned  why 
she  had  come  ;  then,  indeed,  her  manner  changed,  but 
she  could  not  tell  her  how,  on  the  night  when  Graham 
Thornton  had  cruelly  torn  the  veil  from  Maggie's, 
heart  leaving  it  crushed  and  broken,  she  had  found  her 
long  after  midnight  out  in  the  tall,  damp  grass,  Avhere, 
in  the  wild  abandonment  of  grief  she  had  thrown  her 
self  ;  nor  how  in  a  calmer  moment  she  had  told  her  sad 
story,  exonerating  him  from  wrong,  and  blaming  only 
herself  for  not  having  learned  sooner  how  much  she 
loved  one  so  far  above  her,  so  she  simply  answered, 
"  Yes,  she  took  a  violent  cold  and  has  been  sick  for 
weeks.  Her  mother  died  of  consumption  ;  I'm  afraid 
Maggie  will  follow." 

"  Poor  girl,  to  die  so  young,"  sighed  Mrs.  Thornton, 
as  she  returned  to  her  carriage  and  was  driven  back  to 
Greystone  Hall,  where,  in  a  recess  of  the  window  Gra 
ham  sat,  his  arm  around  his  wife,  and  his  fingers  playing 
with  the  curls  of  her  golden  hair. 

But  the  hand  dropped  nervously  at  his  side  when  his 
mother  startled  him  with  the  news  that  "  Maggie  Lee 
was  dying."  Yery  wonderingly  the  large  blue  eyes  of 


42  MAGGIE  LEE. 

Helen  followed  him,  as,  feigning  sudden  faintness,  he 
fled  out  into  the  open  air,  which,  laden  though  it  was 
with  the  perfume  of  the  summer  flowers,  had  yet  no 
power  to  quiet  the  voice  within  which  told  him  that  if 
Maggie  died,  he  alone  was  guilty  of  her  death.  "  But 
whatever  I  can  do  to  atone  for  my  error  shall  be  done," 
he  thought  at  last,  and  until  the  chill  November  wind 
had  blasted  the  last  bud,  the  choicest  fruit  and  flowers 
which  grew  at  Greystone  Hall  daily  found  entrance  to 
the  chamber  of  the  sick  girl,  who  would  sometimes  push 
them  away,  as  if  there  still  lingered  among  them  the 
atmosphere  they  had  breathed. 

"  They  remind  me  so  much  of  the  past  that  I  cannot 
endure  them,  in  my  presence,"  she  said  one  day  when 
her  aunt  brought  her  a  beautiful  bouquet,  composed  of 
her  favorite  flowers,  and  the  hot  tears  rained  over  the 
white,  wasted  face,  as  she  ordered  them  from  the  room. 

Much  she  questioned  both  her  aunt  and  Bennie  of 
her  rival,  whose  beauty  was  the  theme  of  the  whole 
village,  and  once,  when  told  that  she  was  passing,  she 
hastened  to  the  window,  but  her  cheek  grew  whiter  still, 
and  her  hands  clasped  each  other  involuntarily  as  she 
saw  by  the  side  of  the  fair  Helen  the  form  of  Graham 
Thornton.  They  both  were  looking  toward  her  win 
dow,  and  as  Helen  met  the  burning  gaze,  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  Graham,  it  is  terrible.  It  makes  me  faint,"  and 
shudderingly  she  drew  nearer  to  her  husband,  who,  to 
his  dying  hour,  never  forgot  the  wild,  dark  eyes  which 
looked  down  so  reproachfully  upon  him  that  memorable 
wintry  day. 

*  *          *  *          *  *  •* 

Three  years  have  passed  away  since  the  time  when 
first  we  met  Avith  Maggie  Lee — three  years  which 
seemed  so  long  to  her  then,  and  which  have  brought 


MAGGIE  LEE.  43 

her  so  much  pain.  She  has  watched  the  snow  and  ice 
as  they  melted  from  off  the  hill-side.  She  has  seen  the 
grass  spring  up  by  the  open  door — has  heard  the  robin 
singing  in  the  old  oak  tree — has  felt  the  summer  air 
upon  her  cheek.  She  has  reached  her  eighteenth  birth 
day,  and  ere  another  sun  shall  rise  will  indeed  be  free. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  see  her  die,"  cried  poor  little  Ben, 
when  he  saw  the  pallor  stealing  over  her  face,  and  run 
ning  out  into  the  yard  he  threw  himself  upon  the  grass, 
sobbing  bitterly,  "  My  sister,  oh,  my  sister." 

"  Is  she  worse  ? "  said  the  voice  of  Graham  Thornton. 

He  was  passing  in  the  street  and  had  heard  the  wail 
ing  cry.  Ben  knew  that  in  some  way  Judge  Thornton 
was  connected  with  his  grief,  but  he  answered  respect 
fully,  "  She  is  dying.  "  Oh,  Maggie,  Maggie.  What 
shall  /do  without  her  ?  " 

"  You  shall  live  with  me,"  answered  Mr.  Thornton. 

'Tvvas  a  sudden  impulse,  and  thinking  the  assurance 
that  her  brother  should  be  thus  provided  for  would  be 
a  comfort  to  the  dying  girl,  he  glided  noiselessly  into 
the  sick  room.  But  she  did  not  know  him,  and  falling 
on  his  knees  by  her  side,  he  wept  like  a  little  child. 
"  She  was  sleeping,"  they  said,  at  last,  and  lifting  up 
his  head,  he  looked  upon  her  as  she  slept,  while  a  fear, 
undefined  and  terrible,  crept  over  him,  she  lay  so  still 
and  motionless.  At  length  rising  to  his  feet,  he  bent 
down  so  low  that  his  lips  touched  hers,  and  then,  with 
out  a  word,  he  went  out  from  her  presence,  for  he  knew 
that  Maggie  Lee  was  dead  ! 

The  next  day,  at  sunset,  they  buried  her  in  the  valley 
where  the  mound  could  always  be  seen  from  the 
window  of  Graham  Thornton's  room,  and,  as  with 
folded  arms  and  aching  heart  he  stood  by,  while  they 
lowered  the  coffin  to  its  resting-place,  he  felt  glad  that 


44  MAGGIE  LEE. 

it  was  so.  "  It  will  make  me  a  better  man,"  he  thought, 
"  for  when  evil  passions  rise,  and  I  am  tempted  to  do 
wrong,  I  have  only  to  look  across  the  fields  toward  the 
little  grave  which  but  for  me  would  not  have  been 
made  so  soon,  and  I  shall  be  strengthened  to  do  what  is 
right." 

Slowly  and  sadly  he  walked  away,  going  back  to  his 
home,  where,  in  a  luxuriously  furnished  chamber,  on  a 
couch  whose  silken  hangings  swept  the  floor,  lay  his 
wife,  and  near  her  his  infant  daughter,  that  day  four 
weeks  of  age.  As  yet  she  had  no  name,  and  when  the 
night  had  closed  upon  them,  and  it  was  dark  within  the 
room,  Graham  Thornton  drew  his  chair  to  the  side  of 
his  wife,  and  in  low,  subdued  tones,  told  her  of  the  fair 
young  girl  that  day  buried  from  his  sight.  Helen  was 
his  wife,  a  gentle,  faithful  wife,  and  he  could  not  tell 
her  how  much  he  had  loved  Maggie  Lee,  and  that  but 
for  his  foolish  pride  she  would  perhaps  at  that  moment 
have  been  where  Helen  was,  instead  of  sleeping  in  her 
early  grave.  No,  he  could  not  tell  her  this,  but  he  told 
her  Maggie  had  been  very  dear  to  him,  and  that  he 
feared  it  was  for  the  love  of  him  that  she  had  died. 
"  I  wronged  her,  Nellie,  darling,"  he  said  smoothing 
the  golden  tresses  which  lay  upon  the  pillow.  "  / 
broke  her  heart,  and  now  that  she  is  gone  I  would 
honor  her  memory  by  calling  our  first-born  daughter 
MAGGIE  LEE.  'Tis  a  beautiful  name,"  he  continued. 
"  and  you  will  not  refuse  my  request." 

There  was  much  of  pride  in  Helen  Thornton's  nature, 
and  she  did  refuse,  for  days  and  even  weeks ;  but  when 
she  saw  the  shadows  deepened  on  the  brow  of  her  hus 
band,  who  would  stand  for  hours  looking  out  through 
the  open  window  toward  the  valley  where  slept  the 
village  dead,  and  when  the  mother,  in  pity  for  her  son, 


MAGGIE  LEE.  45 

joined  also  in  the  request,  she  yielded ;  and,  as  if  the 
sacrifice  were  accepted  and  the  atonement  good,  the 
first  smile  which  ever  dimpled  the  infant's  cheek,  played 
on  its  mouth,  as  with  its  large,  strange,  bright  eyes 
fixed  upon  its  father's  face,  it  was  baptized  "  Maggie 

Lee." 

*          %  •*  *          *          *        •* 

Four  years  of  sunshine  and  storms  have  fallen  upon 
Maggie's  grave,  where  now  a  costly  marble  stands,  while 
the  handsome  iron  fence  and  the  well-kept  ground 
within  show  that  some  hand  of  love  is  often  busy  there. 
In  a  distant  city  Ben  is  striving  to  overcome  his  old 
dislike  for  books,  and  seeking  to  make  himself  what  he 
knows  his  sister  would  wish  him  to  be.  At  home,  the 
little  store  has  been  neatly  fitted  up,  and  Miss  Olivia 
sits  all  day  long  in  her  pleasant  parlor,  feeling  sure  that 
the  faithful  clerk  behind  the  counter  will  discharge  his 
duties  well.  Greystone  Hall  is  beautiful  as  ever,  with 
its  handsome  rooms,  its  extensive  grounds,  its  winding 
walks,  its  bubbling  fountains  and  its  wealth  of  flowers, 
but  there  is  a  shadow  over  all — a  plague-spot  which 
has  eaten  into  the  heart  of  Graham  Thornton,  and 
woven  many  a  thread  of  silver  among  his  raven  locks. 
It  has  bent  the  stately  form  of  his  lady  mother,  and  his 
once  gay-hearted  wife  wanders  with  a  strange  unrest 
from  room  to  room,  watching  ever  the  uncertain  foot 
steps  of  their  only  child,  whose  large,  dark  eyes,  so  much 
like  those  which,  four  long  years  ago  flashed  down  on 
Helen  their  scrutinizing  gaze,  are  darkened  forever  .for 
little  Maggie  Lee  is  Hind  ! 

They  are  getting  somewhat  accustomed  to  it  now — 
accustomed  to  calling  her  their  "  poor,  blind  bird,"  but 
the  blow  was  crushing  when  first  it  came,  and  on  the 
grave  in  the  valley,  Graham  Thornton  more  than  once 


46  MAGGIE  LEE. 

laid  his  forehead  in  the  dust,  and,  cried,  "  My  punish 
ment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear." 

But  He  "  who  doeth  all  things  well,"  has  in  a  measure 
healed  the  wound,  throwing  so  much  of  sunshine  and 
of  joy  around  her,  who  never  saw  the  glorious  light  of 
day,  that  with  every  morning's  dawn  and  every  even 
ing's  shade,  the  fond  parents  bless  their  little  blind  girl, 
the  angel  of  their  home. 


THE  ANSWERED  PRAYEE.  47 


THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER. 


ALL  day  long  the  canary  bird  had  sung  unheeded  in 
his  gilded  cage  by  the  door,  and  the  robin  had  caroled 
unheard  by  his  nest  in  the  tall  maple  tree,  while  the  soft 
summer  air  and  the  golden  rays  of  the  warm  June  sun 
entered  unnoticed  the  open  windows  of  the  richly 
furnished  room,  where  a  pale  young  mother  kept  her 
tireless  watch  by  the  bedside  of  her  only  child,  a  beau 
tiful  boy,  three  summers  old.  For  many  days  he  bad 
hovered  between  life  and  death,  while  she,  his  mother, 
had  hung  over  him  with  speechless  agony,  terrible  to 
behold  in  one  so  young,  so  fair  as  she.  He  was  her  all, 
the  only  happiness  she  knew,  for  poor  Lin  a  Hastings 
was  an  unloving  wife,  who  never  yet  had  felt  a  thrill  of 
joy  at  the  sound  of  her  husband's  voice,  and  when  oc 
casionally  his  broad  hand  rested  fondly  upon  her  flow 
ing  curls,  while  he  whispered  in  her  ear  how  dear  she 
was  to  him,  his  words  awoke  no  answering  chord  of 
love. 

How  came  she  then  his  Avife — and  the  mistress  of  his 
princely  home  ?  Alas  !  wealth  was  then  the  god  which 
Lina  Moore  worshiped,  and  when  Ralph  Hastings, 
with  his  uncouth  form  and  hundreds  of  thousands  asked 
her  to  be  his  wife,  she  stifled  the  better  feelings  of  her 
nature  which  prompted  her  to  tell  him  No,  and  with  a 
gleam  of  pride  in  her  dark  blue  eyes,  and  a  deeper  glow 


48  THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER. 

upon  her  cheek,  she  one  day  passed  from  the  bright 
sunshine  of  heaven  into  the  sombre  gloom  of  the  gray 
old  church,  whence  she  came  forth  Lina  Hastings, 
shuddering  even  as  she  heard  that  name,  and  shrinking 
involuntarily  from  the  caresses  which  the  newly  made 
husband  bestowed  upon  her.  And  so  the  love  she 
withheld  from  him  was  given  to  the  child  who  now 
lay  motionless  and  white  as  the  costly  linen  on  which 
his  golden  curls  were  streaming. 

All  day  she  had  watched  him,  for  they  told  her  that 
if  he  lived  until  the  sun  setting,  there  was  hope,  and  as 
the  hours  wore  on  and  the  long  shadows,  stretching  to 
the  eastward,  betokened  the  approach  of  night,  oh,  how 
intense  became  the  anxiety  in  her  bosom.  Fainter  and 
softer  grew  the  sunlight  on  the  floor,  and  whiter  grew 
the  face  of  the  sleeping  boy.  'Twas  the  shadow  of 
death,  they  said,  and  with  a  bitter  wail  of  woe,  Lina 
fell  upon  her  knees,  and  as  if  she  would  compel  the 
God  of  Heaven  to  hear  her,  she  shrieked,  "  Spare  my 
child.  Let  him  live,  and  I  will  bear  whatsoever  else 
of  evil  thou  shalt  send  upon  me.  Afflict  me  in  any 
other  way  and  I  can  bear  it,  but  spare  to  me  my 
child." 

In  mercy  or  in  wrath,  Lina  Hastings'  prayer  was  an 
swered.  The  pulse  grew  stronger  beneath  her  touch 
— the  breath  came  faster  through  the  parted  lips — a 
faint  moisture  was  perceptible  beneath  the  yellow  curls, 
and  when  the  sun  was  set  the  soft  eyes  of  Eddie  Has 
tings  unclosed,  and  turned  with  a  look  of  recognition 
upon  his  mother,  who,  clasping  him  in  her  arms,  wept 
for  joy,  but  returned  no  word  or  thought  of  gratitude 
toward  Him  who  had  been  thus  merciful  to  her. 
******* 

In  a  small  brown  cottage  in  a  distant  part  of  the 


THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER.  49 

same  village,  another  mother  was  watching  beside  her 
first-born,  only  son.  They  had  been  friends  in  their 
girlhood,  she  and  Lina  Hastings.  Together  they  had 
conned  the  same  hard  tasks — together  they  had  built 
their  playhouse  beneath  the  same  old  chestnut  tree — 
together,  hand  in  hand,  had  they  wandered  over  the 
rocky  hills  and  through  the  shady  woods  of  New  Eng 
land,  and  at  the  same  altar  had  they  plighted  their 
marriage  vows,  the  one  to  the  man  she  loved,  the 
other  to  the  man  she  tolerated  for  the  sake  of  his  sur 
roundings.  From  this  point  their  paths  diverged, 
Lina  moving  in  the  sphere  to  which  her  husband's 
wealth  had  raised  her,  while  Mabel  Parkman  one  sad 
morning  awoke  from  her  sweet  dream  of  bliss  to  find 
herself  wedded  to  a  drunkard !  Only  they  who  like 
her  have  experienced  a  similar  awakening,  can  know 
the  bitterness  of  that  hour,  and  yet  methinks  she  was 
happier  than  the  haughty  Lina,  for  her  love  was  no 
idle  passion,  and  through  weal  and  woe  she  clung 
to  her  husband,  living  oft  on  the  remembrance  of 
what  he  had  been,  and  the  hope  of  what  he  might  be 
again,  and  when  her  little  Willie  was  first  laid  upon  her 
bosom,  and  she  felt  her  husband's  tears  upon  her  cheek 
as  he  promised  to  reform  for  her  sake  and  for  his  son's, 
she  would  not  have  exchanged  her  lot  with  that  of  the 
proudest  in  the  land.  That  vow,  alas,  was  ere  long 
broken,  and  then,  though  she  wept  bitterty  over  his 
fall,  she  felt  that  she  was  not  desolate,  for  there  was 
music  in  her  Willie's  voice  and  sunshine  in  his  presence. 
But  now  he  was  dying,  he  was  leaving  her  for  ever,  and 
as  she  thought  of  the  long,  dark  days  when  she  should 
look  for  him  in  vain,  she  staggered  beneath  the  heavy 
blow,  and  in  tones  as  heart  broken  as  those  which  had 
fallen  from  Lina  Hasting's  lips,  she  prayed,  "  If  it  be 


50  THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER. 

possible  let  this  cup  pass  from  me,"  adding,  "  Not  my 
will,  oh  God,  but  thine  be  done." 

"  I  will  do  all  things  well,"  seemed  whispered  in  her 
ear,  and  thus  comforted  she  nerved  herself  to  meet  the 
worst.  All  the  day  she  watched  by  her  child,  chafing 
his  little  hands,  smoothing  his  scanty  pillow  beneath 
his  head,  bathing  his  burning  forehead,  and  forcing 
down  her  bitter  tears  when  in  his  disturbed  sleep  he 
would  beg  of  his  father  to  "  bring  him  an  orange — a 
nice  yellow  orange — he  was  so  dry." 

Alas,  that  father  was  where  the  song  of  the  inebriate 
rose  high  on  the  summer  air,  and  he  heard  not  the  plead 
ings  of  his  son.  'Twas  a  dreary,  desolate  room  where 
Willie  Parkman  lay,  and  when  the  sun  went  down  and 
the  night  shadows  fell,  it  seemed  darker,  drearier  still. 
On  the  rude  table  by  the  window  a  candle  dimly  burned, 
but  as  the  hours  sped  on  it  flickered  awhile  in  its 
socket,  then  for  an  instant  flashed  up,  illuminating  the 
strangely  beautiful  face  of  the  sleeping  boy,  and  went 
out. 

An  hour  later,  and  Willie  awoke.  Feeling  for  his 
mother's  hand,  he  said,  "  Tell  me  true,  do  drunkards 
go  to  heaven  ?  " 

"  There  is  for  them  no  promise,"  was  the  wretched 
mother's  answer. 

"  Then  I  shall  never  see  pa  again.  Tell  him  good- 
by,  good-by  forever." 

The  next  time  he  spoke  it  was  to  ask  his  mother  to 
come  near  to  him,  that  he  might  see  her  face  once 
more.  She  did  so,  bending  low  and  stifling  her  own 
great  agony,  lest  it  should  add  one  pang  to  his  dying 
hour. 

"  I  cannot  see  you,"  he  whispered,  "  it  is  so  dark — so 
dark." 


THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER.  51 

Oh,  what  would  not  that  mother  have  given  then  for 
one  of  the  lights  which  gleamed  from  the  windows  of 
the  stately  mansion  where  Eddie  Hastings  was  watched 
by  careful  attendants.  But  it  could  not  be,  and  Avhen 
at  last  the  silvery  moonbeams  came  struggling  through 
the  open  window  and  fell  upon  the  white  brow  of  the 
little  boy  they  did  not  rouse  him,  for  a  far  more  glorious 
light  had  dawned  upon  his  immortal  vision — even  the 
light  of  the  Everlasting. 

****** 

In  her  tasteful  boudoir  sat  Lina  Hastings,  and  at 
her  side,  on  a  silken  lounge,  lay  Eddie,  calmly  sleeping. 
The  crisis  was  past — she  knew  he  Avould  live,  and  her 
cup  of  happiness  Avas  full.  Suddenly  the  morning  still 
ness  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  tolling  bell.  'Twas 
the  same  which,  but  for  God's  mercy,  would  at  that 
moment,  perhaps,  have  tolled  for  her  boy,  and  Lina  in 
voluntarily  shuddered  as  she  listened  to  the  strokes, 
which,  at  first,  were  far  between.  Then  they  came 
faster,  and  as  Lina  counted  Jive,  she  said  aloud,  "  'Twas 
a  child  but  two  years  older  than  Eddie." 

Later  in  the  day  it  came  to  her  that  the  bereaved 
one  was  her  early  friend,  whom  now  she  seldom  met. 
Once  Lina  would  have  flown  to  Mabel's  side,  and  poured 
into  her  ear  words  of  comfort,  but  her  heart  had  grown 
hard  and  selfish,  and  so  she  only  said,  "  Poor  Mabel, 
she  never  was  as  fortunate  as  I  " — and  her  eye  glanced 
proudly  around  the  elegantly -furnished  room,  falling 
at  last  upon  Eddie,  whom  she  clasped  to  her  bosom 
passionately,  but  without  thought  of  Him  who  had  de 
creed  that  not  then  should  she  be  written  childless. 

The  humble  funeral  was  over.  The  soft,  green  turf 
had  been  broken,  and  the  bright  June  flowers  had  fallen 


52  THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER. 

beneath  the  old  sexton's  spade  as  he  dug  the  little 
grave  where  Willie  Parkman  was  laid  to  rest.  In  the 
drunkard's  home  there  was  again  darkness  and  a  silence 
which  would  never  be  broken  by  the  prattle  of  a  child 
ish  voice.  Sobered,  repentant,  and  heartbroken,  the 
wretched  father  laid  his  head  in  the  lap  of  his  faithful 
wife,  beseeching  of  her  to  pray  that  the  vow  that  morn 
ing  breathed  by  Willie's  coffin  and  renewed  by  Willie's 
grave  might  be  kept  unbroken.  And  she  did  pray,  poor 
Mabel.  With  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  weep 
ing  man,  she  asked  that  this,  her  great  bereavement, 
might  be  sanctified  to  the  salvation  of  her  erring  hus 
band. 

"  I  will  do  all  things  well,"  again  seemed  whispered 
in  her  ear,  and  Mabel  felt  assured  that  Willie  had  not 
died  in  vain.  'Twas  hard  at  first  for  Robert  Parkman 
to  break  the  chains  which  bound  him,  but  the  remem 
brance  of  Willie's  touching  message — "  Tell  pa  good- 
by,  good-by  forever,"  would  rush  to  his  mind  when 
ever  he  essayed  to  take  the  poisonous  bowl,  and  thus 
was  he  saved,  and  when  the  first  day  of  a  new  year 
was  ushered  in,  he  stood  with  Mabel  at  the  altar,  and 
on  his  upturned  brow  received  the  baptismal  waters, 
while  the  man  of  God  broke  to  him  the  bread  of  life. 
Much  that  night  they  missed  their  child,  and  Mabel's 
tears  fell  like  rain  upon  the  soft,  chestnut  curl  she  had 
severed  from  his  head,  but  as  she  looked  upon  her  hus 
band,  now  strong  again  in  his  restored  manhood,  she 
murmured — "  It  was  for  this  that  Willie  died,  and  I 
would  not  that  it  should  be  otherwise." 

•*          *  •*  *  *  *          * 

Fifteen  years  have  passed  away  since  the  day  when 
Lina  Hastings  breathed  that  almost  impious  prayer — 
"  Send  upon  me  any  evil  but  this,"  and  upon  the  deep 


THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER.  53 

blue  waters  of  the  Pacific  a  noble  vessel  lay  becalmed. 
Fiercely  the  rays  of  a  tropical  sun  poured  down  upon 
her  hardy  crew,  but  they  heeded  it  not.  With  anxious, 
frightened  faces  and  subdued  step,  they  trod  the  deck, 
speaking  in  whispers  of  some  dreaded  event.  There 
had  been  mutiny  on  board  that  man-of-war — a  deep- 
laid  plot  to  murder  the  commanding  officers,  and  now, 
at  the  sun-setting,  the  instigators,  four  in  number,  were 
to  pay  the  penalty  of  their  crime.  Three  of  them 
were  old  and  hardened  in  sin,  but  the  fourth,  the 
fiercest  spirit  of  all  'twas  said,  was  young  and  beauti 
ful  to  look  upon.  In  the  brown  curls  of  his  waving 
hair  there  were  no  threads  of  silver,  and  on  his  brow 
there  were  no  lines  save  those  of  reckless  dissipation, 
while  his  beardless  cheek  was  round  and  smooth  as 
that  of  a  girl.  Accustomed  from  his  earliest  childhood 
to  rule,  he  could  not  brook  restraint,  and  when  it  was 
put  upon  him,  he  had  rebelled  against  it,  stirring  up 
strife,  and  leading  on  his  comrades,  who,  used  as  they 
were  to  vice,  marveled  that  one  so  young  should  be  so 
deeply  depraved. 

The  sun  was  set.  Darkness  was  upon  the  mighty 
deep,  and  the  waves  moved  by  the  breeze  which  had 
sprung  up,  seemed  to  chant  a  mournful  dirge  for  the 
boy  who,  far  below,  lay  sleeping  in  a  dishonored  grave, 
if  grave  it  can  be  called,  where 

"  The  purple  mullet  and  gold  fish  rove, 
Where  the  sea  flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue 
Which  never  are  wet  with  the  falling  dew, 
But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine 
Far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  glassy  brine." 

Over  the  surging  billow  and  away  to  the  northward, 
other  robins  are  singing  in  the  old  maple-tree  than 


54  THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER 

those  which  sang  there  years  ago,  when  death  seemed 
brooding  o'er  the  place.  Again  the  summer  shadows 
fall  aslant  the  bright  green  lawn,  and  the  soft  breezes 
laden  with  the  perfume  of  a  thousand  flowers  kiss  the 
faded  brow  of  Lina  Hastings,  but  they  bring  no  glad 
ness  to  her  aching  heart,  for  her  thoughts  are  afar  on 
the  deep  with  the  wayward  boy  who,  spurning  alike 
her  words  of  love  and  censure,  has  gone  from  her  "  to 
return  no  more  forever,"  he  said,  for  he  left  her  in 
bitter  anger.  For  three  years  the  tall  grass  has  grown 
over  the  grave  of  her  husband,  who  to  the  last  was 
unloved,  and  now  she  is  alone  in  her  splendid  home, 
watching  at  the  dawn  of  day  and  watching  at  the  hour 
of  eve  for  the  return  of  her  son. 

Alas,  alas,  fond  mother,  Mabel  Parkman  in  her 
hour  of  trial,  never  felt  a  throb  of  such  bitter  agony 
as  that  which  wrung  your  heart-strings  when  first  you 
heard  the  dreadful  story  of  your  disgrace.  There  were 
days  and  weeks  of  wild  frenzy,  during  which  she  would 
shriek,  "  Would  to  Heaven  he  had  died  that  night 
when  he  was  young  and  innocent,"  and  then  she  grew 
calm,  sinking  into  a  state  of  imbecility  from  which 
naught  had  power  to  rouse  her. 

A  year  or  two  more,  and  they  made  for  her  a  grave 
by  the  side  of  her  husband,  and  the  hearts  which  in 
life  were  so  divided,  now  rest  quietly  together,  while 
on  the  costly  marble  above  them  there  is  inscribed  the 
name  of  their  son,  who  sleeps  alone  and  unwept  in. 
the  far-off  Southern  Seas. 

THE   END. 


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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FA 

A  A      000199702    2 


